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I 


UONBL FORTUNf^T. 

j A ROUMANIAN ROMANCE. 

AIA^RCa nRaCIJS^ER. 


^SLATION FROM THE GERMAN, 

BY HETTIE E. MILLER. 


ILLUSTRATni 



DONOHUES, MKNNE^BERRY «& CO., Ri-it>lishiers, 
40^-425 Dearborn, St. ^ CHIC A GO, 


MiCHELINE. 


By Hector Malot. i2mo. Paper. Illus- 
trated. 


, “ Hector Malot is one of the most charming French 
writers. Micheline is one of his strongest works, and 
the translation is good."— The Arkansas Gazette. 

“The theme of the story will recall the leading 
features of ‘East Lynne.’”— Francisco Chronicle. 

“The story, of course, is French, and has some 
peculiar features, but iS one that any one can read. 
The characters are well drawn, and many parts of the 
book are very touching.” — The San Francisco Morning 
Call. ■ 

“The scenes are vivid from the start, and the inter- 
est is well maintained throughout.” — The Rochester 
(A’'. F.) Union and Advertiser. 

“A happy translation of a charming French novel.” 
— Davenport Democfat. 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRV & CO., Publishers, 

CHICAGO. 






sv^**.* 








JONEL FORTUNAT 


A 

ROUMANIAN ROMANCE 




MARCO BROCINER 

M 



TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


HETTIE E. MILLER 


roofSVi , 


DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 
407-425 Dearborn St. 



COPYRIGHTED, 1891, 

BY 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 


DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY, 
Printeus and Binders, 
CrnCAGO. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


I 

Service in the miserable little church at Banesti 
was ended. Although it was the Sabbath it had only 
been attended by the sacristan, two old women, and 
Alex, the lord of the manor’ s coachman. Father Con- 
stantin was not put out by this sad fact. On the con- 
trary, the fewer the number of worshipers, the better 
was he pleased; for he could get through with the 
service so much the quicker, could omit whole pages, 
and psrform his pious work in half an hour, for which 
his duty would usually require four times as much time. 
Father Constantin was not a bad Christian. O, no! 
But he felt certain that the Almighty would not lay 
up against a poor priest the skipping of a few pages, 
for his income was very small; and if the lord of 
Banesti, Herr Demeter Fortunat, had not generously 
given him three ducats from his own pocket every 
month, he would have found it difficult to exist. 
Yes, three ducats which Father Constantin received 
regularly the first of each month, when he repaired to 
the castle with the holy water to consecrate it. There- 
fore Father Constantin never forgot at the close of the 


6 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


service to murmur a special prayqr for the welfare of 
Herr Fortunat and his little son, Jonel. That day he 
had uttered the prayer more emphatically than usual, 
and had spoken the names of the lord and his son so 
loudly, that Herr Fortunat’ s coachman, old Alex, who 
had fallen asleep in the cool and peaceful house of 
God, started up in affright, hastily made the sign of 
the cross, and rushed out of the church. 

Father Constantin, a tall, large-boned man of forty, 
in a faded, green gown, with a cylindrical covering 
upon his head, soon after left the church, which the 
sacristan closed behind him. He walked along slowly 
toward his dwelling, stroking his wavy, gray beard, 
which would have given him quite a venerable appear- 
ance, had not his nose been so suspiciously red. 

His dwelling was low, one-storied, and overgrown 
with moss; the outer walls were painted blue; it was 
about twenty paces from the church whose court-yard 
served also for a cemetery. To live so near a cem- 
etry, in whiclb the graves lie so close together, that 
when a new one is made it almost encroaches upon 
the old ones, cannot be very pleasant or very cheer- 
ful. At first Father Constantin could not become rec- 
onciled to his dwelling; but in time — he had lived 
there fifteen years — the cemetery became to him ar be- 
loved spot, which he planted with lime-trees and weep- 
ing-willows, and transforrqed into a garden. 

Especially had it been dear to him since his beloved, 
sweet Maritza, his fair, lovely wife, had been laid 
there to rest; and nothing in the world could have 
induced him to change his abode. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


7 


Directly in front of his little house upon a green 
mound, arose a white tombstone under which his wife 
slumbered. 

Father Constantin, after strengthening himself by 
means of ‘divers glasses of “holy water,” as he called 
gin, had gone thither, leaned his head against the 
stone and gazed sadly before him. 

Indeed, it was the anniversary of his wife’s death. 
The expression of the priest’s face was melancholy, 
like that of a person who is filled with sad memories. 
But Father Constantin’s “sad memories” were not 
occasioned by thoughts of the dead so much as by the 
circumstance that the “coliva,” a flat, sweet wheat- 
cake, which he had bought for his Maritza’s anniver- 
sary, had disappeared from his room. 

Father Constantin had been delighted with that 
cake for which he had sacrificed ten francs. It was 
so large around, that the priest could scarcely span 
it with both arms. It was elegant, too, and had upon 
its upper surface a religious symbol, the head of St. 
Nicholas, with which an artistic hand had ornamented 
it in cochineal. And this magnificent cake had disap- 
peared— had evidently been stolen. Without doubt the 
sacristan was the thief — he and no other! To steal 
a coliva, such a coliva! Terrible. Father Constantin 
angrily shook his head. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by a peculiar blast 
from a horn. Father Constantin started up and list- 
ened. At first he did not know what it was; then he 
remembered that it was the Jewish New Year. 

“Those accursed Jews, murmured he, testily. Father 


8 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


Constantin was no enemy of the Jews — God forbid! 
But at that moment he wished the entire progeny of 
Jacob at the devil. 

“It is a shame,” thought he; “that in a Christian 
village there is only one tavern, and that is closed to- 
day, when an honest man would like to drown his 
sorrows in a few glasses of wine, because the proprie- 
tor, Naftali, is praying in the synagogue, in which 
certainly the only Jew is to be found with whom one 
can speak a sensible word; and that Jew is my dear 
friend, Zilibi Psantir.“ 

What the priest said was true. Both Naftali, the 
tavern-keeper, and Zilibi Psantir were at the syna- 
gogue, which was at the extreme end of the little 
town, not far from the church. 

Zilibi Psantir, a thin, little man with a skin like 
parchment, a black imperial, and two shrewd, small, 
dark eyes, was the author of those weird tones, which 
had given the priesPs reflections a worldly turn. On 
the Jewish New Year, according to an ancient custom, 
the “scholar” is blown in the synagogues, and Zilibi 
Psantir had solicited the honorable office of eliciting 
from a ram’s horn those sacred, but inharmonious 
tones, to which the Jews listen, on that special holi- 
day, with fervent devotion. Zilibi Psantir was ac- 
corded the honor. So he stood in the center of the 
synagogue before a table covered with a bright cloth, 
the end of the ram’s horn in his mouth, and next him 
Naftali, a large, red-bearded man, who repeated the 
Hebraic formula, to which Zilibi had to rule and mod- 
ulate the number and rhythm of the blasts. 


JON EL FORTUNE T 


9 


This was no easy matter. The first blasts had been 
sounded quickly; but when he had to give out the 
same tone three times in succession, the instrument 
grew refractory. 

The perspiraion stood upon Zilibi’s furrowed brow. 
He put the horn to his lips several times, but not a 
sound was to be heard. 

Naftali smiled maliciously. He had said at once 
that that slight, weak Zilibi could never master the 
“scholar.” One needed for that, powerful lungs and 
a strong chest, such as only Herr Naftali possessed. 

But the tittering which came from amongst the 
women pained Zilibi more than Naftali’s malicious 
smile. No they should not laugh at him’ He stood 
upright, gathered all his strength together, his pale 
face grew red, his hollow cheeks puffed out — and then 
there rang through the silence a tone, so shrill and 
piercing that all were startled. That was such a blast 
as had never been heard before in the synagogue of 
Banesti; it must have been such an one as that which 
shook the walls of Jericho to their foundation. 

A shaggy, black dog which had lain before the syn- 
agogue lazily and sleepily in the sun, now and then 
snapping at a fly, sprang up with a howl; another dog 
joined him; and in a few seconds, as if a signal had 
been given, all the dogs in Banesti were howling. 
Disturbed by this, the cows began to low, and as 
everything was showing signs of life, the cocks thought 
it their duty to make themselves conspicuous by con- 
tinued crowing. It was a terrible confusion. 

‘‘The accursed Jews! ” cried Father Constantin, 


10 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


starting up wildly, for he had just prepared to take a 
nap upon his wife’s grave. Then he again sank upon 
the grass; but his purpose was frustrated. 

A crowd of small, gayly-clad Jewish children, with 
long caftans and curly hair, rushed into the church- 
yard, and began to run about, shouting and hurrying 
amongst the graves. Father Constantin was about to 
rise and order these unbidden guests from the holy 
place, when he saw amongst them a charming girl, Vv^ith 
long, black, curly hair, dressed in .white; little Lea, 
Zilibi Psantir’s daughter. She was the wildest of 
them all. She fluttered ahead like a bee. sang and 
clapped her tiny hands. The sight of this child 
served to allay the priest’s anger. He supported his 
head upon his hands, and smiling grimly, watched the 
children’s antics. 

"Who will catch me?” cried Lea. She had swung 
herself upon a tombstone and looked with bright eyes 
at the boys! 

‘T, I! ” they replied in chorus. 

‘T will run against you all,” laughed the girl; “you 
miust all stand in a row; I will be five paces in ad- 
vance, and when I clap my hands we will begin to 
run. Do you want to?” 

“Yes, yes!” cried the boys. 

Lea sprang down from the tombstone, placed the 
boys in position, and counted five paces. Then she 
clapped her hands. The race began. Lea flew away 
as agile as a cat, followed by the crowd of screaming 
children. She hurried along the path to the mound 
where the priest lay, laughed in his face roguishly, 


JOl^EL FORTUNAT 


11 


stopped a second, turned quickly, shot through the 
ranks of her followers, ran over the mounds, wound 
like a serpent among the tombstones, all with such 
lightning speed, that the priest clasped his hands in 
astonishment and stared after her, open-mouthed. 
Finally she drew up exhausted, upon the spot where 
the race began. She was deathly pale and breathed 
with difficulty. But her large, burning black eyes, 
shaded by their long lashes, looked triumphantly at 
the boys, who one after the other arrived at the goal, 
covered with dust and breathless. 

“Now we will play robbers, and I shall be the cap“ 
tain,“ said Lea’s silvery voice. “Or would anyone 
else like to be the captain? Would you, Jankele?” 
she turned to a delicate red-haired boy, a son of the 
tavern keeper, Naftali. 

“No no,” cried the boys, '‘you, Lea, are our cap- 
tain!” 

“Listen,” said she, pushing back her dark curls with 
the palms of her hands; “six of you are robbers and 
the other four are gendarmes. You, Jankele, are the 
leader of the gendarmes. And our hiding place shall 
be that forest.” She pointed to a birch forest along- 
side of the drive. The boys looked in that direction. 

Then suddenly Jankele cried in a trembling voice: 

'Jonel is coming! ” 

That cry had a strange effect. The boys stood a 
second as if turned to stone, then they crowded to- 
gether like sheep at the approach of a wolf, their 
anxious gaze turned toward the highway upon which a 
boy was advancing toward the cemetery, followed by 


12 


JOl^EL FORT UN AT 


a tall man with a black, cylindrical hat upon his head 
and rather an unsteady gait. 

“He will strike us, ’ lamented Jankele; “Jonel has 
seen us; O God! he will strike us; let us run away 1“ 

“Stay!” cried the girl. She advanced a step. 

Jonel had noticed the Jewish boys. With winged 
steps, leaving his companion far behind, he hastened 
up and stopped a few paces in front of Lea. The. 
twelve-year-old son of the lord of Banesti was a dread- 
ed enemy of the Jewish gamins of the town. Each of 
the ten boys, who stood trembling with fear behind th^ 
girl, had felt the riding-whip with the ivory handle, 
which he now held threateningly in his hand. Jonel 
glanced for a second at the girl who looked him so 
fearlessly in the eyes. They were both of the same 
height, and if one looked closely one could see a re- 
semblance in their features. The boy’s dark eyes had 
the same fire as the girl’s; he had the same small 
mouth with rather full lips — the same nose with 
the delicate nostrils, only their foreheads were differ- 
ent. The girl’s was low and broad, while the boy’s 
was high and, for his age, very strongly developed. 

“What are you Jews doing in a Christain cemetery?” 
said he contemptuously. “You have your synagogue; 
there you can play if you want to, but not here; get 
oiit! ” 

He raised his whip threateningly. 

“Stay!” cried the girl. 

One second the boys seemed to hesitate; then Jonel 
flourished his whip, and the whirring of the same 
had a magical effect. In a trice the boys dispersed in 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


13 


all directions. The girPs eyes sparkled. With a 
cat-like grip she seized the red-haired Jankele, who 
was standing nearest her, by his long silken caftan and 
detained him. “Get out!” cried Jonel. 

“She will not let me,” moaned Jankele. 

Then the same whip descended upon the Jewish 
boy^s back. With a cry of pain he disengaged him- 
self and hurried away, crying bitterly. For a minute 
Lea stood there, undecided. Then she stooped, picked 
up a large stone; deathly pale, with flashing eyes and 
her white teeth pressed upon her under-lip, she rushed 
upon Jonel. A hissing sound, almost serpent-like, 
issued from her mouth, as she, her hand convulsively 
grasping the stone, gave the boy such a heavy blow 
upon his forehead that he fell. 

Father Constantin, who had witnessed the entire 
scene, sprang up when he saw Jonel fall, hastened to 
him, and stopped terror-stricken before the uncon- 
scious boy, from whose forehead the blood was flow- 
ing. 

“Herr Brunner!” cried he in despair. This was ad- 
dressed to JonePs tutor, the man with the cylindrical 
hat, who had remained standing at the entrance to 
the cemetery, and was gazing into space, smiling va- 
cantly^ 

Herr Brunner did not move from the spot. The 
priest bent over the hoy, raised him, and carried him 
to his dwelling, casting an angry glance at Lea. He 
laid him carefully upon his divan. The boy opened 
his eyes and looked about him. Father Constantin 
kissed him. “It is nothing, child,” murmured he — “a 


14 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


mere scratchy we will wash away the blood and put cold 
compresses upon your brow. Does it pain, child?” 

Jonel shook his head in the negative. The priest 
took out of a box a new, red-dowered handkerchief, 
dipped it in water, washed away the blood, examined the 
wound, and bound the handkerchief about the boy’s 
brow. “That such a thing should happen in our church- 
yard,” sighed he, seating himself upon the divan next 
the boy, and stroking the dark curls from his fore- 
head, “and upon Sunday too. What an impious child! 
Just wait; I shall tell her father. If only our gra- 
cious Herr Fortunat hears nothing of it — but where is 
Brunner? It seems to me that the man is tipsy again 
to-day. Tell me, Jonel, have you any pain?” 

“No, no!” cried the boy fretfully, “I have no pain, 
but I am weary; I wish to sleep.” 

He closed his eyes. Father Constantin folded his 
hands, looked thoughtfully at the handsome, pale face 
of the boy, made the sign of the cross over him three 
times, then crept upon tiptoe to the cupboard, which 
was near the door, where he kept his “holy water,” 
took out a long-necked brandy-flask, and braced himself 
np by a long pull at it. 


Father Constantin’s opinion that Herr Brunner, 
Jonel’ s tutor, was tipsy, was unfortunately true. 
Herr Balthasar Brunner, a thin man of about 
forty, about whose body fluttered a long black 
robe, and upon whose head a high cylindrical hat was 
saucily perched, was indeed intoxicated, which cer- 
tainly derogated from his appearance, which was rather 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


15 


inclined to be dignified on account of his long, blonde 
beard and very bald head. As often as Herr Brunner 
had “indulged,” he had always been able to preserve 
his dignity. That such was not the case upon this 
day was owing to the fact that the day before, Herr 
Fortunat had received a consignment of Rhine wine, 
of which he had given Herr Balthasar Brunner half a 
dozen bottles. When that m^orning he had uncorked 
the first bottle, and the aroma of the Rhine wine 
floated about him, a thousand recollections of his dis- 
tant fatherland had arisen — pleasant and sad memories 
of his childhood, of his years at the gymnasium, and 
finally thoughts of his university days at Heidelberg, 
where he had studied everything so long and so ear- 
nestly — theology, philosophy, philology— until he was 
obliged to go into the world to earn his bread as a 
tutor. Lost in these thoughts, he had emptied one 
bottle after the other, silently and sadly. The 
wine played poor Brunner a trick that time. . At first 
it did not affect him, but during his walk it mounted 
to his brain, pricked his legs, and made him feel so 
strange, that Brunner had to summon all his strength 
to retain his equilibrium. But about thirty paces 
from the entrance to the church-yard, he gave up the 
fight. His spirit was willing, but his legs were weak, 
and were growing weaker all the time, so that his 
form swayed noticeably. A melancholy smile at the 
frailty of human nature hovered about his mouth. 
He staggered to the gate, however, and stood there 
leaning against it. He heard Father Constantin call 
his name, and had a faint suspicion that something had 


16 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


happened. But at the same time he dared not vent- 
ure among that lab37rinth of white tombstones, which 
danced before his eyes like ghosts in the bright noon 
sunshine. As he stood there and thought and smiled, 
the upper part of his body swaying first to the right, 
then to the left and then forward, the sound of vio- 
lent sobbing reached his ears. A few yards in front of 
him upon a mound under a weeping willow, whose 
slender boughs almost touched the ground, sat Lea 
weeping. 

“Jonel, ” cried Brunner, “where are you?” 

Lea sprang up at his words. 

“Ah, it is you. Lea?” said Brunner, leaning against 
the gate. “Have you seen my pupil, my darling 
Jonel?” 

The girl wiped away her tears and said quickly: 

“He is ill, perhaps dead.” 

Herr Balthasar Brunner put the forefinger of his 
right hand upon the end of his nose, which was quite 
blue, while the rest of it was a bright red — a phenome- 
non easily explained, for the said end of his nose had 
had the ill-luck to freeze, one severe winter several 
years before. 

“A healthy boy,” murmured he, “cannot possibly 
sicken so quickly — much less die. That is contrary 
to all the laws of nature. You are lying, Lea,” added 
he; impressively, “you are either lying or raving — one 
or the other.” 

“I am not lying!” cried Lea; “Father Constantin has 
carried Jonel to his house.” 

Brunner passed his hand over his brow; he remem- 


JOhlEL FORT Uhl AT 


17 


bered vaguely the anxious cry of the priest; some- 
thing must indeed have happened. 

“My dear child,” said he, “give me your hand and 
lead me to the priest’s house. I am suffering with 
dizziness, and am, as you see, rather weak in the 
knees. ” 

Lea took his hand. Herr Balthasar Brunner threw 
back his head and allowed the girl to lead him 
through the serpentine paths to the priest’s house. At 
the door Father Constantin met them. 

“He is asleep,” said he softly; “do not speak loud.” 

Then he began to relate to Herr Brunner the whole 
affair in a whisper, and closed with the assurance 
that the sad business had confused him and upset his 
stomach; that he would never have believed that in 
such a little Jewess — here he looked angrily at Lea 
— so much of the devil would stick! 

“Remain here awhile, Brunner,” added he; “watch 
the boy; unfortunately I am obliged to go to town.” 

His “business in town” was only a pretext, for 
Father Constantin wished to see if it were not pos- 
sible in spite of the Jewish holiday to obtain admis- 
sion to Naftali’s tavern, and there to set his stomach 
to rights. 

Brunner, who probably understood Father Constan- 
tin, smiled significantly. 

“I am much obliged to you, Father Constantin,” 
said he gravely, “for your kind care.” 

He pressed his hand, then suddenly drew the priest 
to his bosom, kissed him several times and began to 
cry softly. 


18 


JONEL FORT UN AT 


Father Constantin withdrew much affected by this 
sudden emotion. 

Brunner opened the door gently and entered the 
priest’s room. It was a low, clean, bare apartment, 
the white and blue walls were hung with handker- 
chiefs reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling; 
these handkerchiefs were worked on both ends and in 
the center with shining gold and silver threads; they 
had belonged to the priest’s deceased wife, who had 
spent the best part of her life upon them. On the 
wall opposite the door, under a lamp, hung a glass 
shrine, containing a cast of the head of St. Nicholas 
surrounded by a halo. Next that, hung two pictures, 
one the Virgin with the Christ-child in her arms, and 
the other, St. George, represented just at the moment 
when he transfixed the dragon with his mighty spear. 

These pictures accorded perfectly with Father Con- 
stantin’s calling; then there were three more of which 
one could not say the same, and which the priest had 
bought some years before — at the fair in town— of a 
Russian picture-dealer, out of pure love of art, for 
three francs. One picture represented Czar Nicolai, the 
other some bloody fray between the Russians and 
Turks, and the third was a cabinet photograph of a 
voluptuous lady, whose airy attire bespoke the ballet- 
dancer. The furniture in the room consisted of two 
cane chairs, a small shaky table upon which lay the 
priest’s entire library, two old worn prayer books and 
a calendar; there was also a chest in which his rever- 
ence kept his clothes and his spirits, and a low divan 
upon which Jonel.lay asleep. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


19 


Brunner looked at the boy awhile, then he sank into 
a chair. Cobwebs seemed to form over his eyes, his 
head began to nod; soon after he was asleep, and 
nothing was to be heard but his heavy breathing and 
the ticking of the clock. 

Then slowly and cautiously Lea’s black, curly head 
appeared through the half-open door, followed by her 
boy. She crept softly upon tiptoe to the divan, 
stopped before it, bent over the sleeping boy and 
listened to his breathing. Then she took the damp 
cloth from his brow, upon which there was a red, 
perpendicular mark reaching almost to the upper part 
of his nose. Jonel, at this, opened his eyes; she fell 
back a step with a slight cry; the cloth slipped from 
her hand. He raised his head and looked about him 
confused. As he recognized Lea he remembered the 
incident in the church-yard, and a deep blush suffused 
his pale cheeks as he thought that that little, stupid 
Jewess, the daughter of that worthless Zilibi Psantir 
the fiddler and jester, whom he scarcely deigned to 
look at, had knocked. him, Jonel, the son of the lord 
of Banesti, down, and caused his blood to flow. The 
story — so he feared — would go the rounds of the 
town; it would be talked about everywhere; and how 
the Jewish boys, who had formerly had such great re- 
spect for him, would make sport of him. 

He put his hand to his burning brow and felt the 
wound. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. O, the 
wound did not pain him ; but that he should carry about 
with him, day after day, perhaps through life, a scar, 
the ineradicable sign of his disgrace — that troubled 


20 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


him; that made his lips quiver, his eyes sparklq as 
he looked at the girl standing by so silently and shyly. 
He clinched his fists. 

O, if this Lea had not been a girl! had she been 
a boy she v/ould have suffered for it! He would have 
thrown her down, have lacerated her face with his 
whip and set all the dogs in the court upon her! But 
a girl! How could one revenge oneself upon a girl? 
He ground his teeth. And yet, revenge could be had, 
her father, the peddling Jew, with the gloomy eyes, 
must be made to suffer. 

“Ah, you!” he cried, “I do not wish to, I cannot 
strike you, but only wait; I shall repay you through 
your father. ” 

“My poor father has done nothing to you,” said she, 
raising her head, “and I am sorry that I hurt you,” 
she added, with tears in her voice, “but I could not 
help it. Why do you persecute the Jewish boys? 
Why do you strike them? What have the Jews done 
to you, Jonel?” 

What had the Jews done to him? Jonel had never 
considered that question. He hated them because 
everyone at home hated them, because his father 
hated them, because they had long, curly hair, and 
wore caftans, because they crept about bowing and 
cringing, and were dirty and cowardly. But what had 
they done to him? He read this question in the glow- 
ing, dark eyes of the girl, which rested upon him 
anxiously, and he could find no answer. 

“What have I done to you? why do you hate me 
Lea?” cried he, suddenly; “say, why?” 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


21 


The girl drew nearer the divan, her cheeks flushed. 
“See, Jonel,” began she, “you wear a fine velvet 
jacket,” — she touched his sleeve with her hand — “it 
cost at least ten francs a yard, and your shoes are 
of fine, soft leather. That all costs money, and you 
have everything without troubling about it, and you 
live in a magnificent castle and have your own tutor 
and take drives, and some day you will be a great, 
rich man, and all will take off their hats to you. 
Why? Because I have nothing; my father is a poor 
Jew; he works day and night; runs about early and 
late, and yet has nothing, and people make fun of him 
and call him ‘Jew,' and he can say nothing. Why? 
Because I too should like a velvet jacket,” fell from 
her lips, “and such shoes as you wear, and should like 
to drive, and have the people take off their hats to me. 
Why have you everything and I nothing? And when 
I see you strike the Jews, and no one dares punish 
you, I feel a pain here — in my heart — therefore I hate 
you. Now you know it!” 

She stopped, breathing quickly; a peculiar fire 
gleamed in her large, almond-shaped eyes, which 
stared at the pale face of the boy who lay there mo- 
tionless. She sank upon the divan at his feet, pressed 
both hands upon her throbbing temples, and gazed in- 
to space, silently. At last the much-desired moment 
had arrived. Jonel, the son of the powerful lord, 
who had always seemed to her like a being from an- 
other, more beautiful world, to whom she had often 
looked up now with hatred and fear, and again with pas- 
sionate longing — the dreaded Jonel, who until now 


22 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


had scarcely noticed her, who looked down from his 
position proudly, scornfully upon her, upon all the 
Jews of Banesti — now lay near her, pale, silent, with 
a wound upon his forehead inflicted by her hand ; and 
what had been upon her mind, she had told him to 
his face, and he could find no answer — not a syllable. 

A strange sensation filled her breast at the thought 
of this — a feeling of pride, that the gulf which until 
now had separated them was bridged over, that he 
could no longer scorn her, but must remember the 
poor, despised “Jewess,” whether he wanted to or not. 
She sprang up. Jonel lay with his eyes half-closed. 
Upon his long silken lashes glistened two tears. She 
timidly approached the head of the sofa. 

“Jonel! ” cried she. He opened his eyes and looked 
into her face. Her lips quivered, she stooped quickly, 
pressed a light kiss upon his mouth, and hurried out 
of the room. 

At that kiss Jonel started up; a bright color suffused 
his pale cheeks, and his heart beat violently. He looked 
around the room to see if anyone had witnessed the 
act. Brunner was snoring in his chair, his head upon 
his breast. He had seen nothing. No one had been 
at the window either; not a soul had seen that Lea, 
Zilibi Psantir’s daughter, had kissed him. And still 
he was troubled ; something horrible, something almost 
inexpressible had happened to him; he felt as if he 
had done something that made him ashamed before 
the world and himself. He buried his face in his 
pillow. He did not wish to see, nor hear; he felt 
as if he must weep. 




'■’ity 





\ 






JON EL FORT UN AT 


23 


O, that Lea! she had not only struck him, as if he 
were a child, but had kissed him too, as one does a 
child after it has been punished. And he had allowed 
her to do all this; he had not said a word to her. 
What would folks think of him — what would his father 
say if he should hear of it? 

He put his hand to his lips and rubbed them, as if 
that kiss had left behind it some mark, which he must 
erase. His brow did not hurt him. He raised his 
face from the pillow — half sat up and looked about 
him. Upon a bough of a willow, which was before the 
door, sat a sparrow, coquettishly' pluming its feathers, 
and between times chirping merrily. On the ground, 
looking up at the sparrow longingly with its bright 
yellow eyes, crouched the priest’s old, red cat. But 
it made no preparations to spring upon the merry 
little warbler. For good reasons too! For on the 
window-sill lay his reverence’s favorite dog — a small, 
black, shaggy creature, that looked down upon the 
cat and barked ironically, as if to say: “Only attempt 
to jump, and if you have forgotten how I can pull 
your fur, I will remind you of it.” 

But suddenly, the dog, without any provocation, 
sprang down like lightning, seized the cat by the neck 
with his sharp teeth, before she could use her claws, 
shook her several times quite severely and, after hav- 
ing cooled his anger a little, sprang up again on the 
window-sill , while the cat, which during this perform- 
ance had “miaued” pitifully, with one leap sprang 
through the half-open door. Jonel laughed aloud, and 
himself felt as merry as the sparrow, which, during 


24 JON EL FORT UN AT 

this intermezzo between the dog and cat, had trilled 
away undisturbed, 

“Ah, pah,” said he softly, “in a few days the scar 
will have disappeared and I shall have forgotten all 
about it; when I meet Lea, I shall turn away my 
head as if I did not know her. What care I for such 
a Jewess?” 

“What care I for such a Jewess?” repeated he 
aloud. Then he again laid down and tried to sleep 
in order to forget all that had taken place the 
last few hours. But he could not rest. Close his 
eyes as tightly as he might, he could not shut out 
that last deed and the image of the Jewess. In 
order to turn his thoughts in another direction, 
he called to mind Madame Belota’s little daughter. 
Several days before he had called with his father 
at Madame Belota’s, a neighboring estate-owner of 
Olesti, and had presented her little daughter, poor, 
delicate Florica, with a beautiful picture book. 
Florica, with her fair curls and sweet, blue eyes, 
which beamed so softly, was quite a different girl 
from Lea. O, yes, she was as good as holy bread; 
her voice was as sweet as the song of birds; she 
could harm no one, much less him. When he next 
visited Madame Belota he would tell poor Florica 
what a wild, quick-tempered, bad Jewess Lea was, 
that she had fallen upon him maliciously, had struck 
him upon the forehead with a stone, that she envied 
him his velvet jacket because she had nothing to wear, 
that she was mad with jealousy and that she — that she 
had kissed him — no! that no one must know, not even 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


25 


Florica. All these reflections, and especially the 
thought that no one would find out about the kiss, had 
soothed him. He sprang up, and when he saw his 
tutor with his head upon his breast, his cylindrical 
hat under his arm and his bald pate illumined 
by a sunbeam, a sudden fit of merriment seized him, 
and he laughed aloud. 

Herr Brunner awoke and his pale blue eyes looked 
about in surprise until the situation, in which he was, 
became clear to him. 

“I believe I have been asleep, Jonel,” said he, ris- 
ing. Then he drew out his watch. “Five,” mur- 
mured he; “we must go home.” Soon after, leading 
his pupil by the hand, he left the priest’s room. 

It was a pleasant September afternoon; the sky was 
bright and cloudless, a gentle breeze swayed the 
branches of the trees in the church-yard. 

Brunner drew deep breaths of the fresh air; he had 
entirely slept off his tipsiness and did not feel any 
evil effects. On the contrary he felt as gay as if he 
had taken a refreshing bath. 

He laughed softly to himself and thought that a 
drink of his native, golden Rhine wine had quite a 
different effect from that much-prized Roumanian wine, 
for the former was cheering and invigorating, and 
awoke in one’s soul a feeling of the deepest enjoy- 
ment of life. 

In the meantime they arrived at the gate of the 
church-yard. 

“Let me see your wound,” said Brunner, standing 
still. Jonel’ s affair with Lea had occurred to him, 


26 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


and he considered it his duty to speak about it to his 
pupil. 

“It is nothing,” said Jonel, lifting his straw hat. 

Brunner examined the swelling, looked very grave, 
and began at once to tell his pupil that he, as the son 
■of a wealthy and universally respected lord, must be- 
have according to his birth and position ; that at twelve 
years ot age one should be more sedate; that it was 
not becoming in a young person who had begun to 
study Latin grammar to fight with Jewish boys in 
general, and with a Jewess in particular. “And now,” 
so he concluded his admonition, “we will draw a veil 
over the past, and as I have just been reminded of the 
Latin grammar it would please me if we were to shorten 
the walk to the house by once more repeating the 
four conjugations.” 

However, Jonel was not in a mood to give his atten- 
tion to Latin grammar. 

“Does your head ache, my child?” Herr Brunner 
asked. 

“No, no!” cried Jonel, “I am quite well, but tell 
me something lively, something pretty — a story. O, 
tell me a story, Herr Brunner!” 

“A story? Very well, ” smiled Brunner; he stopped, 
laid his hand upon the boy’s head and said: 

“As far as eye can see, Jonel, these fields, these- 
meadows, the castle standing over there so proudly, 
and these woods bounded by the horizon, all belong to 
your father, and some day wood and fields will be your 
inheritance. But there are also poor people who own 
no land, who creep about under their burdens, whg 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


27 


are continually being oppressed — those people are the 
Jews in the little town of Banesti — the Jews whose 
children anxiously hide when they see you in the dis- 
tance. But those Jews — do you hear. Jonel? — were once 
a great, a brave people, and from amongst them men 
have gone forth whose names are honored in the world; 
and two thousand 3^ears ago they gave us a Savior — 
God of Love, whom we all adore — do you understand 
me, Jonel?” Brunner’s voice sounded deep and warm. 
Jonel looked him full in the face with his large, 
bright eyes. ‘‘Do you understand me?” repeated 
Brunner. 

‘‘Yes,” softl)' said the boy. 

“If you have understood me,” continued Brunner, 
‘‘you must also feel that you are not doing right when 
you ill-treat the Jews of Banesti. It is not right, 
Jonel; indeed, it is very wrong.” 

‘‘But no one can bear them,” said Jonel, rather in- 
clined to weep; ‘‘father cannot, nor Madame Belota, 
nor even Prefect Remus Aldean, who says they should 
be driven out of the country altogether.” 

“Herr Remus Aldean, the prefect of our district, is 
a very worthy man,” said Brunner, harshly, ‘‘but I 
make so bold as to differ from him.” 

‘‘Are you angry with me?” asked Jonel, as he drew 
near him caressingly. 

“No, my dear child,” said Brunner, taking the boy’s 
head between his hands, and gazing tenderly in his 
eyes; “I love you, and because I love you, and because 
you have a kind and tender heart, I wish you to be 
more liberal than the others — than your father, than 


28 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Madame Belota, and the worthy Prefect Remus Al- 
dean. ” 

He kissed the boy’s brow, again took his hand, and 
silently they walked along the path leading to the 
manor, whose windows gleamed like gold in the even- 
ing sun. 


II 


The manor, a simple, one-storied building, gray 
with age, with glittering roof of metal, high windows 
and a balcony supported by two caryatides, lay east 
of Banesti, on a hilly knoll. A well-kept drive, bor- 
dered with plane-trees, about two kilometers long, led 
from the castle through rich pasture-grounds, through 
waving corn-fields and through a small birch forest, 
to the town, which consisted of a single, long, un- 
paved street, on both sides of which low houses wei;e 
built mostly of clay, whose black, cracked shingle 
roofs were overgrown with layers of moss. 

From the balcony of the castle one could look upon 
a broad plain surrounded by forests; one could see a 
pond like a silver mirror, upon whose banks the rushes 
were swayed to and fro by the wind. It was a peaceful 
but not a striking landscape; it was only charming 
when, on clear nights, the moon lit it up — when its 
silvery light flooded the cupola of the little church and 
passed over the glittering surface of the lake. There, 
too, was the neglected castle garden, with its enormous 
giant oaks, as beautiful as a dream. 

This garden had once known better days; this was 
proved by the numerous beds bordered with box, in 
which now weeds grew. There stood, overgrown with 
a wild vine, a chapel, through whose small, round 

29 


30 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


window one could see into a dark room, in which a 
taper flickered like a little star. To the right of the 
door of the chapel, next a marble tombstone, upon 
which only the day of the year and the date yet re- 
mained, was a statue, upon a sandstone stylobata— a 
marble statue, representing a beautiful, youthful wo- 
man. Two weeping-willows with long, slender branch- 
es, kept watch before the entrance to the chapel. 
Several paces further on arose from the center of a 
basin, a black triton, with puffed-out cheeks and a 
horn in his mouth. But no water came from it; the 
contents of the basin consisted only of dead leaves. 
It was a quiet, sad spot, especially when the autumn 
wind rustled the oaks, and the yellow leaves flew 
about. 

And quietly and sadly the life of the lord of all this 
vast estate was being spun out. Herr Demeter Fortu- 
nat was no longer young; he was about fifty years 
old; his black, curly hair was mixed with gray, and the 
hair upon his temples was quite white. But his car- 
riage was still youthful, his fair beard framed a face 
still fresh, his high forehead was so white and smooth, 
and his dark eyes were so bright, that he might easily 
have passed for a man of thirty whose hair had turned 
prematurely gray. 

Herr Demeter Fortunat was considered odd. He 
took no interest in politics, held very little intercourse 
with his neighbors, spoke little, laughed seldom, and 
seemed to be perfectly contented in managing his es- 
tates and the education of his son Jonel, and for the 
improvement of his mind he turned to his books. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


31 


About his early life all sorts of reports were circu- 
lated. Everyone knew that this quiet man upon whose 
features rested a grave expression, had years before 
been one of the gayest cavaliers at the residence; that 
he, without a quiver of the eyelid, would lose or win 
thousands in a night; that in a few years he had lost all 
his estates except Banesti; everyone knew that at 
that time he had been engaged to a lovely young girl, 
a Fraulein Notara — later, Madame Belota — that he 
had suddenly disappeared from the residence, had 
wandered about several years in Germany and France; 
and eight years before this story opened, he had re- 
turned to Banesti, a silent, grave man, who had lost 
all his love for the enjoyments of life; and that soon 
after, a four-year-old, wonderfully beautiful boy, with 
curly black hair, had tottered about the castle garden. 

How Herr Demeter Fortunat obtained possession of 
this boy was probably known to only two persons: 
Alex, Herr FortunaFs old servant, and the owner of 
Galeni, Madame Aglae Falutza, a childless widow, 
sixty years old. But Alex was a disagreeable old 
fellow, who always smelt of gin — who answered, when 
questioned upon that subject: “Leave me in peace!” 

Madame Aglae Falutza, on the other hand, was as 
talkative as a magpie — the words flowed from her im- 
mense mouth with its false teeth. She knew everything 
that had taken place in the district during the last 
thirty years; and she loved to tell all those family 
affairs and scandals, with her own embellishments. 

Only when the conversation turned upon Fortunat 
and his son Jonel, would she remain silent, or she 


33 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


would throw out a few mysterious hints, which would 
serve to increase curiosity. 

Madame Aglae Falutza had been a widow twenty 
years; but notwithstanding her sixty years she was still 
a vigorous, resolute woman, who took unusual interest 
in the family affairs of her numerous acquaintances 
and had quite a mania for bringing single men under 
the matrimonial yoke. 

Every Sunday afternoon at five o’clock she paid 
Herr Fortunat a visit, spent two or three hours with 
him, drank two or three cups of Turkish coffee, and 
related to him all the news of the week. That day her 
old-fashioned carriage with four horses had driven 
into the court-yard of the castle. Her white-haired 
coachman, Dumitree, had, as usual when the carriage 
stopped before the door, cracked his whip three times, 
as usual uttered a loud cry, whereupon Alex hurried 
up and helped the old lady to descend. At the mo- 
ment when Madam Falutza stepped out of the car- 
riage, Jonel and Herr Brunner entered the court-yard. 

“Jonel !” cried she, delighted to see the boy, hastened 
to him, embraced and kissed him with motherly affec- 
tion. 

“What is that?'’ cried she suddenly. She had no- 
ticed the swelling on his forehead. 

“I fell down,” said Jonel, lowering his eyes. 

“Fell down?” cried she with an annihilating glance 
at Herr Brunner. “Do you think, Herr Brunner, that 
Herr Fortunat steals the money that he pays you to 
take care of Jonel — do you?” 

And without ascertaining if Herr Brunner thought 


JONEL FeRTUNAl 


■33 


so or not, she seized Jonel’s hand, hurried with him 
into the castle, pushed the door of a room on the 
first floor to the right of the entrance open, forced 
Jonel to lie down upon a lounge, ordered Alex to fetch 
a kitchen knife immediately, pressed the blade upon 
the swelling and murmured several mystic words. 
When she had finished this performance, which, accord- 
ing to her opinion, would undoubtedly have a heal- 
ing effect, she kissed Jonel and begged him to lie still 
half an hour. Jonel promised to do so on the condi- 
tion that she would not tell his father of what jad 
happened. After she had given her word, she left the 
room and ascended the stairs to greet Herr Fortunat, 
whose study was on the first floor. When she entered 
Fortunat was sitting at a window, deep in his book. 
He sprang up, came toward her, shook her hand heart- 
ily and invited her to a seat. 

After she had chatted glibly for some time about 
everything imaginable — about the crops, about the 
price of grain, about her intention of investing several 
thousand francs in stocks; about the rumored engage- 
ment of a neighboring land-owner; about a law-suit 
she had with a grain-dealer, about JoneFs handsome 
appearance, and about his instructor’s queer nose — the 
stream of her eloquence being suddenly exhausted she 
emptied at one draught a cup of Turkish coffee, 
which Alex in the meantime had brought in, made 
herself a cigarette, lit it, and then said, looking Herr 
Fortunat full in the face, without further de- 
1 ay : 

“Madame Belota has been your neighbor for several 


3 


34 JO^EL FORTUNAT 

weeks. -During that time you have only visited her 
thrice. Why?” 

A slight flush suffused Fortunat’s pale face. 

“I am surprised that you ask me such a question, 
when you know of my former relations with Madame 
Belota! " 

Madame Falutza laughed softly to herself. “Just 
for that reason,” cried she, “because I know of them, 
do I ask you why you do not make amends to this 
woman for the wrong you once did her? ” 

Fortunat rose. He walked up and down the room 
several times, and stopped before the old lady, whose 
eyes sparkled mischievously. 

“What you have just said to me, dear friend,” be- 
gan he, and his voice trembled with emotion, “I have 
often said to myself. But there are certain things 
which a woman never forgives. Amongst them, I 
think, is included desertion a week before the wed- 
ding-da)^, which makes of her a laughing-stock for the 
world. Such an action, which can only be excused by 
those who understood the unhappy passion which 
drove me to it, I once was guilty .of toward Fraulein 
Notara, the present Madame Belota. Thirteen years 
have flown since then. In the meantime my hair has 
turned gray, and I have learned to forget much. But 
that Madame Belota should forget the affront which 
I offered her — that she should give her hand to the 
one who was the cause of her consecrating twelve years 
of her youth to a sickl}^ husband— that I consider an 
impossibility. ” 

”An impossibility,” said Madame Falutza, who had 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


35 


listened to him calmly — “an impossibility?” repeated 
she, with a cunning smile about her mouth; “then you 
must suffer Prefect Remus Aldean to lead away the 
lovely w'idow.” 

“Never!” Fprtunat interrupted. He uttered these 
words so violently, so passionately, and his face grew 
so pale, that he was startled himself. 

Madame Falutza’s small, dark eyes rested upon his, 
searching^. For a second he stood there as if turned 
to stone. Then he seized both of the old lady’s 
hands: “Laugh, Madame Falutza, laugh at an old fool 
if you will; what until now I have not dared to con- 
fess even to myself, I will tell you: Since I have again 
met Madam Belota, I feel as if my .youth were re- 
newed, as if I had been born again; the sight of her 
fascinates me; I tremble like a silly boy if her gown 
brushes against me; I should like to fall at her feet 
and beg her forgiveness for all the suffering I have 
caused her — my heart beats as violently, as uncontrol- 
lably as it once did when I read my fate in Rachel’s 
eyes. I am no longer a boy; my hair is gray — is it 
not laughable?” 

Madame Falutza laughed heartily. She arose, laid 
her hand familiarly upon his shoulder and said: 
“Then you will not be vexed with me if I say a good 
word for you to Madame Belota?” 

“Do not do so !” 

“Then do so yourself. Pay her a visit to-morrow, 
and do not forget to take Jonel with you; Florica has 
taken a great fancy to him. As we arranged, you will 
drive over to Madame Belota’ s to-morrow and sound 
the ground a little. A bon entendeur salutT 


36 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


She pressed his hand and left the room with a 
beaming face. Fortunat soon after heard her carriage 
drive up, the whip crack, old Dumitree utter a merry 
cry — and the carriage rolled away. 

Then the court-yard was quiet again. The sun had 
set behind the forest. The evening sky had grown 
pale; the shadows of night began to encircle the 
broad plain; several stars twinkled in the heavens, 
and soon the moon arose full and bright. 

Fortunat sank into a chair, his head against its back, 
looking thoughtfully and seriously before him. And 
as he sat there and meditated, old memories of the 
past arose clearly before him. 

It was a cold February night. Heavy flakes of snow 
whirled through the air. Fine sleighs flew through 
the main streets of Jassy. 

He was sitting in a comfortable saloon, lighted 
by a rose-colored lamp, upon a tabauret at his 
fiancee’s feet. It was a week before their wedding- 
day. He held her small, white hand in his, and 
whispered to her words of love. Now and then she 
stroked the hair from his brow and kissed his eyes. 
But those kisses did not move him, and the loving 
words that he whispered to her, did not come from 
his heart. He had never been so conscious of this as 
upon that evening when he found himself alone with 
his bride in the quiet saloon, and the question ob- 
truded itself upon him, if he would be happy 
with the girl who clung to him so devotedly. Frau- 
lein Notara seemed to have divined his thoughts. 
Then as the black marble clock which stood upon 
a table near the window, struck twelve and inter- 
rupted the silence, and he rose to take his leave, 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


o» 

she looked in his eyes and asked softly: “Do you 
really love me, Tica?” There was such a touching- 
ly beseeching expression in her eyes, that he could not 
answer at once! 

‘See here, Tica,” she continued hurriedly, “there are 
malicious people who envy a poor girl one happy 
hour, and they say all sorts of things! They have 
told us that you are only going to marry me because 
you have lost your money at gaming, because through 
me — through my father’s influence — you wish to make 
your mark. I do not believe it; and yet a drop of 
the poison has remained in my heart, and robs me of 
my peace. Tell me, Tica, that all that people say 
about you is untrue; only say so, and I will believe 
you. “ 

He said nothing, but he drew her to his breast and 
whispered: 

“You little simpleton!” ' 

Then he left her. He wandered through the de- 
serted streets. His heart was heavy. In a few 
months he had run through the greater part of his 
fortune. He had felt the ground shake beneath his 
feet, and the thought occurred to him that he would 
soon be unable to maintain his position. He was 
thirty-six years old, and longed for a , comfortable 
home. His parents had died years before; his only 
sister had been taken from him the preceding year; 
he was alone, quite alone in the world. And he often 
felt miserable when he thought how aimlessly he had 
wasted the best years of his life, when he saw how 
others by his side were striving. 

“You must marry,” Madame Falutza had said to 
him one day, as he told her his trouble. And she 


38 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


found him a bride. It only wanted eight days until 
the wedding, and he would then be bound to a wife 
who was beautiful, good and clever and possessed all 
possible virtues, but whom he did not love. He 
would marry and become a staid man — a staid man! 
He would become a politician like the others, would 
speak in the senate, would attend to business, would 
earn money; and spend every evening with his young 
wife, to whom he would owe his position, his money, 
everything. This thought cut him to the heart. 

Could he not save himself by his own powers? owe 
all to himself, and not to any woman? Why not? Was 
he not in the prime of life? Had he not as much 
knowledge and talent as those so-called patriots, 
whose names everyone spoke with respect? 

Should he marry? Should he bind himself to a wife, 
who could not awaken his affections — give up his free 
bachelor life, and receive nothing in place of it but 
a wife, and a father-indaw, who would always be a 
living repoach to him? Never! He shook his head as 
if to shake off invisible chains. All kinds of thoughts 
flew through his brain, as he wandered dejectedly 
through the street^. 

Suddenly sounds of music fell upon his ear. 
He found himself in an out-of-the-way street, in 
which, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour^ 
there was quite a good deal of confusion. Almost 
all the houses were illuminated. Muffled figures 
hastened to and fro. Then he remembered that the 
Jewish '' Purirn' was being celebrated, and that that 
evening he was invited to a ball at a Jewish banker’s. 

He walked farther, and soon arrived at a one- 
storied, brightly illuminated house, before which a 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


30 


number of idlers stood. He opened the house door, 
ascended the steps covered with carpet to the first floor, 
entered the hall, where a servant relieved him of hi^ 
fur, and soon after stepped into a brilliantly lighted 
room, through which a gay, masked company moved 
about. His arrival had not been noticed. He stepped 
into a niche and watched their movements. 

Suddenly there was a lull. All eyes were turned 
toward the door at which two strange forms appeared. 
Next a short, curly-headed masked Jew, upon whose 
head was a red cap and bells, and who held a fiddle 
under his arm, stood a majestic woman with a red vel- 
vet jacket and a blue skirt reaching to her ankles. 
Her face was covered with a black silk mask from 
which two sparkling eyes peeped. A white rose orna- 
mented her blue-black hair. 

“Good evening, my people,” said the little Jew, 
bowing on all sides. Then with a quick movement 
he tore the mask from his face. A shout of laughter 
greeted him. 

“Zilibi Psantir!” was heard from every mouth. 
“Zilibi Psantir, with his sister Rachel.” 

Tf everyone is mad to-day, why should not I be?” 
laughed Zilibi Psanter. Rachel,” he turned to his 
sister, “you need not be ashamed of your face. Any 
of these ladies,” he added boldy, “would give a thou- 
sand ducats for a face like yours!” 

“Unmask!” cried several young men. 

But Rachel stood there motionless, her burning 
eyes fixed upon Fortunat. 

Then the host — a Somali, slight Jew, in a black frock- 


40 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


coat — stepped forward, bowed before her with comic- 
al gravity, stood upon tiptoe and tore the mask from 
the girl’s face. 

For a second, silence reigned in the room; all were 
enchanted by the classically beautiful, marble face; 
then exclamations of admiration were heard, but the 
little slender host made the most noise of all. He 
clapped his hands, and with his small dark eyes ogled 
the lovely girk 

At a sign from the host, a Hungarian band on an 
estrade in a corner of the room began to play a waltz. 
The host tried to encircle Rachel’s waist. 

She drew back, and Fortunat stood suddenly before 
her. For a second they looked into one another’s 
eyes, silently and with a deep and peculiar earnest- 
ness. Then they floated into the hall. 

Dance followed dance, and the pair who danced the 
most and were the most inseparable were Fortunat 
and the handsome Jewess. 

The ladies began to whisper, the gentlemen put 
their heads together. But Fortunat paid no attention 
to them. He was as if intoxicated; his eyes sparkled 
and he seemed to be in exuberant spirits. Morning 
dawned as the last strains of music sounded. The 
majority of the guests had departed as Fortunat, with 
Rachel upon his arm, left the hall. In the anteroom 
he wrapped her in his own fur and led her down the 
stairs. He lifted her into a sleigh which stood before 
the house, awoke the coachman who had fallen asleep 
upon the box, and ordered him to drive on. 

“Where is my brother?” asked she, as if awaking 
from a dream. 


JOhlEL FORTUhlAT 


41 


“Zilibi Psantir is watching a game of cards,” an- 
swered he, merrily. “I am going to run away with 
you. ” 

He stepped into the sleigh, gave the coachman a 
sign, and away they went. 

The drive only* lasted a few minutes. The sleigh 
stopped before a small house. Rachel took off the 
furs and handed them to her companion. They had 
not exchanged a single word. 

"When can I see you again?” asked he. 

“Whenever you wish.” 

He drew nearer her, took her head between both 
hands and whispered : Rachel, I am not intoxicated, 

I know what I am saying, listen: To-night some- 
thing happened to me; I fell in love, deeply in love 
with you, Rachel, do you hear?” 

Then he bent toward her, kissed her lips once — 
and then again — passionately, as if he wished to sip 
her very soul. 

That was a blessed night, and a blessed kiss, which 
even after many years filled his heart with .warmth. 

Fortunat arose. The remembrance of that night, 
which was to play such an important part in his life, 
had moved him deeply. He. walked up and down the 
room a while. Then he stopped before the window 
and looked down upon the park, about which the 
moonlight had woven a glittering web. The memories 
of the past would not leave him. That night had 
been followed by happy days. His passion for the 
beautiful Jewess had taken possession of him with 
such power that he sacrificed everything for her. He 


42 


JONEL FORTUNy^T 


fled with her to his estate on the Russian frontier. 

In happy oblivion flew the weeks, the months. But 
the happiest day of all those blissful ones was that 
upon which his Rachel presented him with a boy. The 
feeling of being a father intoxicated him like wine; 
he would stand for hours and gaze at his child, which 
was the image of its mother. 

One morning a srnall, dusty Jew presented himself. 
He was RachePs brother, the jester, Zilibi Psantir. 

“1 have sought you a long time, sir,” said he in a 
trembling voice. His short figure drew itself up and 
the Jew’s small eyes glared wildly; ‘T have sought 
you a long time, for I have something serious to say 
to you. I am a poor, honest Jew, and my sister was 
a poor, honest girl. You turned her head. You caused 
her to become an outcast. There is only one way by 
which you can atone for your wickedness; become a 
Jew and marry my sister, will you?” 

Fortunat at this absurd question laughed aloud. 

‘T know why you laugh,” said Zilibi; then he turned 
to his sister: “Come with me, we will go to some dis- 
tant land, where no one knows of your shame. Take 
your child with you, I will care for you both.” 

“Get out! ” cried Fortilnat, and his whip fell upon 
Zilibi’s shoulders. 

Rachel caught Fortunat’ s arm. The little Jew was 
deathly pale. At first his words were unintelligible, 
but suddenly they flowed from his mouth. What he 
uttered were curses, terrible curses upon the woman, 
which made Fortunat’ s hair stand on end. And then 
he left them. 


FORTUNAT 


From that hour a change took place in Rachel, which 
spoilt all his pleasure. She was still loving and obe- 
dient, but her eyes were inexpressibly sad and filled 
him with dread forebodings. 

He left the small estate on the Russian frontier 
where he had spent so many happy hours, and moved 
to Banesti. There, in the neighborhood of the town, 
he hoped that the ban would be removed — that she 
would revive, and forget that terrible scene. His 
hopes seemed about to be realized. But one evening 
— it was a lovely, moonlight autumn evening like that 
particular one — Alex rushed to him, breathless and 
pale, with wide-open eyes, and stammered : 

“Rachel !“ 

A terrible suspicion crept over him; he flew to her 
room ; there she lay upon the divan with distorted 
features, his revolver clutched convulsively in her 
right hand, and from her right temple blood flowed 
upon the white pillow. Upon the floor lay a piece of 
paper upon which a few words were written: 

“My life is lost! Care for pur child!” 

The horrible suicide of that beautiful, passionately- 
loved woman was to him a terrible blow, and he felt 
as if he must tear the weapon from the hand of his be- 
loved dead and put it to his own temples. 

Then he remembered his child. His life belonged 
no longer to himself; he must dedicate it to the poor 
creature who innocently had driven his own mother to 
her death. This thought sustained him in the midst 
of his sorrow. In a couple of days he buried his 
Rachel under the sod in the park. He chose the pret- 


44 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


tiest spot for her. Then he gave his child into Mad- 
ame Falutza’s keeping and left the country. 

Several years he wandered in foreign lands, with the 
silent, ineradicable love of home and of his child in 
his heart. Then he returned home a changed man, 
who desired nothing in life for himself, and who 1 ad 
only one wish and that was to see his Jonel develop in- 
to a good man. 

But now all his plans were disturbed, and in his 
heart raged a passion which filled him — now with hor- 
ror, now again with’delight — and a feeling of blissful 
joy. Was he really to expedence another love than 
that for his son? He felt as if he must fall at Mad- 
ame Belota’s feet, kiss her hands, and tell her how 
deeply and truly he loved her. 

“My sweet wife.” Those words escaped him, and 
he was startled at the sound of his own voice. Yet in 
those words there lay such a charm, that he repeated 
them again and again. He seated himself in his arm- 
chair and closed his eyes in order to be the better 
able to indulge his dreams. 

Suddenly some one embraced him. It was Jonel. 

“We have been awaiting you for supper for an hour, 
papa,” said the boy. 

Fortunat kissed his son^s brow. “I was busy,” said 
he confusedly; then he arose. 

“What do you think, Jonel; would you like to have 
Madame Belota for your mother?” Fortunat felt the 
boy’s hand tremble in his. 

“Do you wish to marry Madame Belota?” 

“Perhaps; do you not long for a mother?” 


JOr^EL FORTUNAT 


45 


*'I do not know,” said Jonel, evasively, “but T love 
Madame's little daughter very much, I could not love 
a sister more.” 

“You must tell Madame Belota so to-morrow noon, 
when we shall visit her.” 


Ill 


Madame Belota had lived with her husband twelve 
years, which could be called neither happy nor un- 
happy ones. When she married him, he was almost 
three times as old as she, decrepit and sickly. 
first people had been surprised, but then decided that 
Fraulein Notara was practical. A girl of a tender 
and romantic nature, whose fiance had deserted her 
a week before her wedding-day, would have died of 
mortification and grief — would have complained and 
lamented and withdrawn from society for a time, to 
escape the unpleasant gossip of the people — the com- 
passion of some, and obtrusive sympathy of others. 

Fraulein Notara, ho's^ever, did not complain, did 
not lament; she seemed to take her desertion very 
little to heart and surprised everyone by her speedy 
engagement to Herr Belota, who was, as aforesaid, 
old and sickly, but was at the same time very wealthy 
and very highly esteemed. 

“It will not be a year,” was the universal opinion, 
“before Fraulein Notara will be a handsome, wealthy 
and life-loving widow.” 

But Herr Belota did not do those, who had pre- 
dicted his death and speculated upon it, the favor of 
dying. On the contrary, a year after his marriage 

46 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


47 


he became the happy father of a charming daughter, 
and lived another eleven years. 

That must certainly have been a sad existence which 
was spent altogether in a sick-room. 

And there was no lack of kind souls, who greatly 
pitied Madame Belota, because the only issue of this 
strange marriage was crippled. But Madame Belota 
did not seem to need any pity— any comfort. 

She lived in fine style, gave magnificent balls, at 
which she did the honors gracefully, and eclipsed 
all her dear friends by her costly and tasteful toilets, 
by the ease of her manner, and by her wonderful 
beauty. 

It impressed one strangely to see the lovely, ever- 
cheerful wife by the side of her shrunken, dim-eyed 
spouse. 

It was almost incomprehensible to her swarm of ad- 
mirers how such a fine woman could live and laugh by 
the side of such a man. Efforts were not wanting to 
prepare for her that happiness which she, according 
to her admirers’ opinions, could not possibly find in 
her wedded life. 

Madame Belota did not reject the innumerable dec- 
larations of love that she received during the first 
years of her marriage, with abrupt coldness, but with 
such an ironical smile, with such sovereign equanim- 
ity, that she was soon placed in the category of heart- 
less women. It is true all worshiped her, notwith- 
standing this; still none of her satellites ever hoped 
to become the Pygmalion of this Galatea. 

Several months after her husband's death, Madame 


48 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


Belota left the residence and repaired to Nice with her 
child. She was in the habit annually of visiting some 
bathing resort, each time inspired by the hope that 
her poor Florica would be restored to health. There 
were no celebrated physicians in Europe that she had 
not consulted, no baths that she had not visited. But 
the lameness, in spite of all the treatment imagina- 
ble, had not been cured. 

Still the maternal heart did not despair. When she 
looked into the clear, blue eyes of her Florica— when 
she gazed upon that refined little face — she- could not 
make up her mind that her child was doomed to live 
there forever like a nipt bud. 

Some months after her arrival at Nice she received 
a letter from Madame Falutza. 

It contained three postscripts. The first depicted in 
a very vivid manner, the solitary, miserable life 
Herr Fortunat was leading at Banesti; the second 
consisted of innumerable hints to the effect that a 
young, lovely widow was not created to pass her life 
alone, and that a woman needed the guidance of a 
man’s firm hand. Finally, the third contained the 
laconic announcement that the estate of Olesti, in the 
neighborhood of Banesti-, could be had for a mere 
song. 

Madame Belota had read these postscripts with an 
odd feeling of displeasure. Several days after the re- 
ceipt of the letter she read them once again, and a 
week later her lawyer at Jassy received an order to 
buy the estate, Olesti, in her name. 

The intelligence that Madame Belota had purchased 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


Olesti especially agitated the unmarried land-owners 
of the district; their agitation increased to enthusiasm 
when toward the beginning of July the beautiful 
widow with her little daughter arrived at her newly- 
acquired home. 

Madame Falutza, who usually was very enthusias- 
tic^ had not this time exaggerated at all. 

Madame Belota’s appearance was indeed striking. 
Her pink and white face had certainly no classically 
beautiful features. Her nose, with its delicate nostrils, 
was rather snubbed; her mouth, with its proudly-arched 
upper lip, was a trifle wide. But at the same time 
her face was attractive, with its dark blue eyes shaded 
by their long lashes, her luxuriant blonde hair held 
in place by a golden comb, from which a few refrac- 
tory curls escaped and nestled on her neck. 

And when Madame Belota was a trifle excited, 
when her dark blue eyes sparkled, when her tall, 
artistically molded form was drawn up to its full 
height, when her half-open mouth, with its proud 
upper lip, revealed her pearly teeth, when she was 
animated, then was this magnificent woman truly 
enchanting. 

It was no wonder that during the first few weeks of 
her arrival in Olesti Madame Belota received half a 
dozen proposals. 

One of her most ardent admirers was the prefect of 
the district, Herr Remus Aldean, a handsome man, 
about thirty years of age, with coal-black hair and 
polished manners. Before Herr Remus Aldean pre- 
sented himself as a suitor, he had slyly posted him- 
4 


50 


JONEL FORTUNA7 


self as to her material position, and found that the 
once considerable fortune of her deceased husband 
had decreased very much. 

This fact somewhat dampened the prefect’s ardor, 
but did not shake his determination to sue for Madame 
Belota’s hand. 

Herr Remus Aldean desired to marry into a Bojar 
family in order thereby to blot out a stain upon his 
escutcheon. It was reported that notwithstanding 
his primitive Latin Christian name, Herr Remus 
Aldean was the son of a gypsy, and malicious tongues 
maintained that up to his fourteenth year he had fol- 
lowed the honest, but not very genteel calling of lead- 
ing a dancing bear. 

By marriage with a lady of good birth the prefect 
hoped to have his former connections forgotten. 

Therefore the discovery that Madame Belota’s fort- 
une had considerably decreased had no especial effect 
upon him. 

What did it matter to him if Madame Belota’s por- 
tion was small? Were there not a thousand ways 
open by which he could easily earn money? 

Herr Remus Aldean had besides saved quite a little 
sum. 

Was it to be wondered at that upon a lovely Sep- 
tember morning he declared to Madame Belota, in a 
trembling voice with a great deal of condescension, 
that he would marry a ^ woman that he loved if she 
were as poor as a church mouse. 

Madame Belota received this declaration with a 
slight smile. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


51 


The prefect, who that day was especially well-dressed, 
had given an extra curl to his long mustachios, and 
wore delicate, pearl-gray gloves, stepped nearer Mad- 
ame Belota, who was sitting in an easy-chair by the 
window, looking into the neglected garden in front of 
her house. 

“Madame,” said h>e, “you do not seem to believe 
my words. And yet, if the woman I loved were ever 
so poor, but if she only possessed the half of your at- 
tractions, if she — ” 

Madame Belota raised her eyes. Those deep, dark 
blue orbs disconcerted the poor prefect somewhat, and 
his discomfiture increased, as she, with a slight but 
perceptible tinge of sarcasm in her voice, said: “If 
you please, continue.” 

“Madame,” said he, piqued, “I understand that at 
the residence you were called the ^Lady with the mar- 
ble heart. ^ Is that really true? Can a woman, so 
beautiful, so good as you, created to delight, indeed 
be capable of no warm sentiments?” 

Madame Belota did not answer. The crack of a 
whip was heard. A droschke, enshrouded in a cloud 
of dust, rolled along the drive, and stopped before the 
garden-gate. Herr Fortunat and Jonel descended. 

Madame Belota sprang up, put her head out of the 
open window and greeted her callers. As she again 
seated herself in her easy-chair, her face was very pale. 

The prefect saw Herr Fortunat, followed by his son, 
approaching the house. 

He twisted his mustache several times, then seized 
his hat, and bowing slightly, said with a significant 


52 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


smile: “The adage that ‘old love never dies,’ seems 

to be true.** 

Madame Belota arose quickly. 

“Herr Prefect,” said she, “I dislike misunderstand- 
ings. I know that you wished to make me a declara- 
tion of love, indeed to propose for my hand. I will as- 
sume that you have already made it and answer shortly 
and concisely: No. We can in spite of that remain 
good friends.*’ 

She said all this rather excitedly. She held out her 
hand to the prefect. Herr Remus Aldean was a prac- 
tical man; he accepted his unalterable fate gracefully. 

“You have hurt me very much, Madame Belota,” 
said he in a trembling voice, la5nng his gloved right 
hand upon his heart, “but the thought that at least 
your valuable friendship remains to me consoles me.” 

The friendship of Madame Belota was of intrinsic: 
value to him, for she was a near relative of the minis- 
ter of the interior. 

He kissed her hand and withdrew. 

When immediately afterward Herr Fortunat and 
Jonel entered, Madame Belota was again standing at 
the window. She turned around quickly. 

“Do you know that I have cause to be vexed with 
you, Herr Fortunat?” said she, holding out her hand; 
“I live here as solitary as if I were in a convent, and 
I think that as my nearest neighbor you need not be so 
chary of your visits.” 

Without awaiting an answer, she turned to Jonel, 
who was standing at the door. 

“You naughty boy,” laughed she, “you have robbed 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


53 


» 

me of my Florica’s heart. For eight days,” continued 
she, turning to Herr Fortunat, “she has plagued me 
with the question, why Jonel did not come. Go into 
the garden Jonel; you will find her there.” 

Jonel kissed her hand and hastened away. 

After the boy had left the room, they stood opposite 
one another 'some time in silence. 

Madame Belota noticed that Fortunat was graver 
than usual. She seated herself upon a small divan 
and invited him to be seated. 

“If I understood you aright,” began he, “you have 
missed me?” 

“O, certainly! ” said she. 

“Still you do not lack society in your ^solitude’. 
Prefect Aldean, for instance, is a very interesting man. ” 

A slight blush stole over her face. She did not answer 
but for a second looked full in his eyes, then took up 
an album that lay upon a table and, turned over the 
pages until she came to Fortunat^ s photograph, the one 
he had given her as her fiance. 

“Have you really missed me?” she heard him ask 
again. It was no bantering question; it seemed to 
come from the depths of his soul, his voice sounded 
so warm and tender. 

Madame Belota glanced from the photograph to. 
the man before her. He was the same Fortunat who 
had formerly seemed to her the embodiment of her 
ideal man— who had wounded her deeply, trampled 
upon her affections, and ruined her life — the same 
Fortunat and yet he was very different. She had 
once vowed that she would be revenged upon him. 


54 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


Had not the time now come? She was too clever 
and worldly wise a woman, and too conscious of her 
enchanting beauty, not to know that he loved her, 
although up to that moment time he had not betrayed 
it by a syllable. 

And this was not the fickle fancy of a boy, not the 
passion of a roue. It was not only delight in a 
beautiful woman, but the deep ardent devotion of a 
mature man. 

His love was evident from his question; it beamed 
from his lovely eyes. Ah they were the same eyes 
that had formerly caused her misery — the same eyes 
but yet so different. She felt strangely agitated; her 
composure left her but only for a moment. 

“If you really wish to know,” said she softly, “yes 
I have missed you. There is so much to be done on 
the estate which a woman cannot do — and I know so 
little about agriculture. I expected that you as an 
old friend would give me a little advice and assist- 
ance. It i's close here,” she added hastily, “will you 
come out on the veranda?” 

She arose and they passed through the hall to the 
porch. The manor of Olesti was a neat, modern villa, 
surrounded by a veranda overgrown with vines, from 
which one could look upon the garden which was sep- 
arated from the drive by an iron gate. 

It was a warm, September day. The trees with 
their foliage were motionless; it was dreamily silent, 
and occasionally could be heard a tone of the bell 
from the church tower, which was only three kilome- 
ters from the village. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


55 


Before the veranda, to which several steps led 
from the garden, stood an enormous walnut tree, 
whose summit was above the roof of the house. 

Under the shade of this tree, next a bed flaming 
with red verbenas, stood a roller-chair, upon which 
lay Madame Belota’s little daughter. 

She was a slight, delicate child of eleven, with 
snowy-white tiny hands, through which the blue veins 
showed so plainly, and a pale face, with golden curls 
and sensible blue eyes. Her small head rested upon 
the upholstered back of the chair; she smiled softly 
and listened attentively to JonePs words, for he was 
sitting upon the lawn, reading aloud to her from a 
book of poems. 

He had selected the lovely ballad about the Molda- 
vian Prince Stefan the Great: He, besieged one day 
by the Turks, deserted by his faithful followers, 
hastened to his castle, Neanz, where his lovely wife 
and his old mother anxiously awaited him. He de- 
manded admission. But his mother refused to admit 
him; she only knew Stefan the. Great, the victorious 
prince, who had made the Turks feel the keenness of 
his sword in many battles. The conquered Stefan, 
who was fleeing from his enemies, was not her son; 
she knew him not. The proud and bitter words of 
the old princess inflamed Stefan’s heroism; he blew 
his horn loudly; the old warriors gathered around 
him; a battle was fought, and the crescent lay before 
him in the dust. 

At first Jonel’s voice had sounded uncertain, but as 
he read on he seemed to be inspired, his cheeks 


56 


JONEL FORTUhlAT 


flushed, he sprang up, and his voice sounded as clear 
as a bell. Fortunat and Madame Belota could hear 
every word he uttered distinctly, from where they 
were sitting. 

The lovely lady’s brow grew dark. And as she 
saw the handsome boy with his rosy cheeks next her 
pale, sickly child, she felt a pang at her heart. 

A feeling of bitterness rose in her breast against 
the man next her, and a feeling of hatred of the boy 
with the sparkling eyes, who seemed to her as the 
embodiment of Fortunat’s passionate love for the 
beautiful Jewess. His beauty, his health, his bright 
eyes seemed to her a sin against her poor child, that 
was a living reminder of her twelve miserable years 
of married life — of the twelve best years of her life, 
of the happiness of which she had been shamefully 
deprived. 

She had never felt it so deeply and bitterly as now, 
And the man who had ruined her life, stood next her 
as a wooer as formerly! Should all the pain which 
he had caused her be allowed to pass forgotten, unre- 
venged? 

He dared to approach her with his love, which 
could only be the dregs of that passion which had 
once filled his heart for the mother of his boy! 

Was there then no justice upon earth? 

How would it be if she were to trample this man 
under foot; if she were to become his wife, in order 
then to embitter his life ; to rule him by a word, a sign; 
to make him the slave of her whims, her caprices; to 
provoke his jealousy and to delight in his misery? 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


57 


But against whom was her anger, her vengeance, di- 
rected? Against Fortunat, who years before had de- 
'ceived her — Fortunat the brilliant, gay cavalier! 

Was this the same Fortunat? Was this grave man 
with the gray hair, with the lovely mournful eyes, the 
same who had once made her so miserable? 

These questions passed through her mind. And as 
she thought and racked her brain, she found that her 
anger against him slowly vanished, and that only a 
feeling of hatred toward Jonel remained. 

Fortunat stood beside her silently, and looked at 
her ponderingly. 

By the peculiar quiver of her lips, by the heaving 
of her bosom, by her features, he could tell what was 
passing within heir. And as she, drawing a deep 
breath, looked in his eyes, he drew her toward him 
and kissed her passionately. 

Then suddenly resounded the cry: “Marfu marun 
tisuri !” (small wares) in the peculiar nasal tone of the 
Jewish peddler. And immediately after, Zilibi Psantir 
appeared at the garden gate with a bundle, wrapped 
in canvas, upon his back, and a wooden yard-stick 
in his hand, while behind him was visible Lea’s black 
curly head. 

Zilibi, who wore upon the back of his head a well- 
worn black three-cornered felt hat, rested upon his 
y^d-stick, and once more uttered that same cry. 

It penetrated to the kitchen and the stables, and 
awoke old Alex, Herr Fortunat’ s coachman, who had 
fallen asleep on a wooden bench where he had been 
enjoying the scent arising from a roasting goose. 


58 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


’Zilibi is here!” cried he. 

And a little later Zilibi stood in the center of the 
garden under the shady walnut tree, surrounded by two 
maids, a tall, barefooted fellow, and old Alex. 

"It is very warm to-day,” said Zilibi, as he, with- 
out changing his position with an adroit movement of 
his right shoulder slipped his pack from his back to 
the grass. “It is very warm now that it is September, 
and in July we froze. We live in a perverse world, 
children,” continued he, as he sank upon his knee and 
loosened the knot in his canvas — "a perverse world; 
the lowest class rise, and vice versa. A while ago the 
peasant girls would run about God’s earth barefooted; 
now they must have shoes with high heels like the 
Bojar ladies, and the Bojar ladies wear dresses like 
the peasant girls. What do you say to this pair of 
shoes, Katinka?” He turned to one of the maids: 
“Eight francs, I will let you have them for six, and 
if you pay me cash, you shall have them for five; by 
that I shall lose fifty bani (centimes) and my trouble. 
More cannot be required of a man.” 

While he was saying all this he brought out a pair 
of shoes, and handed them to the maids, then there 
followed gay neckerchiefs, soap, ear-rings, glass beads, 
gloves, hair-pins, tinsel, holy pictures, and finally a 
razor. 

“This is for you, Alex,” said he to the old coach- 
man; “you have your beard shaved once a week for 
twenty centimes and the barber at Banesti cuts your 
face every week with his dull knife. This razor will 
cost you four francs; in a month and a half you will 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


59 


have your capital in your pocket again, and the rest 
is gain. Who will buy?” 

While Zilibi in this way tried to find purchasers 
for his goods, Lea stood behind him, staring at Jonel, 
who at the sight of her was very much embarrassed. 

He had, as he had made up his mind, told Florica 
of his adventure with the little Jewess, and described 
her as a disagreeable wild girl. 

He would now gladly have run away but he could 
not leave Florica alone, and he also wished to show 
Lea that he was altogether indifferent to her. 

"That is Lea,” he had whispered to Florica, when 
Zilibi entered the garden with his little daughter. 

Florica had raised herself in her chair, and looked 
closely at the little Jewess. 

"Will you not call her, Jonel?” whispered she to 
him, when she noticed that Lea was staring fixedly at 
the boy. 

"I do not want to! ” cried he. 

"Oh! you are unkind,” said she; "I should like to 
become acquainted with Lea; she does not look as 
bad-tempered as you said she was. "Lea! ” cried she. 

The Jewess started. Was that call really n eant for 
her? Then she heard her name again, and saw Flor- 
ica beckon to her. She hastened up and stopped be- 
side the roller-chair 

Florica for a second looked searchingly at the 
girl. 

"Jonel has told me about you,” began she with a 
smile, "and of the quarrel that you had. To strike 
him on the brow with a stone was not right, but he is 


60 


, JON EL FORT UN AT 


not quite innocent; he should not have provoked you. 
Will you not make friends?” 

At these sweet gentle words the tears came into 
Lea’s eyes; a Christian had never addressed her so 
kindly, and this was a Bojar child, the daughter of the 
wealthy, proud and handsome Madame Belota. She 
could scarcely believe her ear. 

“Will you not make friends?” repeated Florica. 

Jonel stood there silently with downcast eyes. 

Neither did Lea speak a word, but suddenly with 
passionate haste, she bent over the sick girl, and cov- 
ered her delicate little hands with kisses and tears. 

“Why do you weep. Lea?” asked Florica, whose 
eyes, too, were filled with tears. 

“I do not myself know why,” sobbed she. 

“Give Jonel your hand, then, and make peace; I 
cannot bear to have people angry! ” Lea rose, ap- 
proached Jonel, and made a movement as if to offer 
him her hand. But he thrust both hands into his 
pockets, and muttered: "See that you clear out! I 
shall not do it even once!” 

About the Jewess’ mouth there was a strange quiver, 
her face grew pale, she ' turned hastily away, hurried 
past her father, who had repacked his gay wares, and 
passed through the garden gate. 

Zilibi looked after her with a shake of the head, 
then he muttered some incomprehensible words, al- 
lowed the coachman, Alex, to help him with his pack, 
and slowly left the garden. 

Florica, when Lea had run away, fell back upon her 
cushions and gazed silently, before her. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


61 


She was vexed with Jonel. He had always tried to 
please her; why had he not that day? 

He probably had his reasons for being angry with 
Lea. 'Rut when she begged him to make friends with 
her, he should have done so, for her sake. 

“I would not have believed that you could be so un- 
kind;” thus she broke the silence. 

“I shall not shake hands with a Jewess, with Zilibi 
Psantir’s daughter!” cried he. 

"Not if / should ask you to?” 

"Not even then!” 

Florica said not another word, but two tears coursed 
down her pale cheeks. 

Jonel felt very uncomfortable; he seized his book 
of poems, turned over some pages, and then began to 
read aloud. 

But he did not get on with it. 

Florica did not seem to hear him, and he was only 
reading because he did not know what to say to his 
little friend — how to propitiate her. 

Then they heard steps upon the gravel path which 
led thence from the house, and soon Fortunat and 
Madame Belota stood before them arm in arm. 

"My dear Jonel,” said Fortunat with beaming, joy- 
ful eyes, "I told you last night that you should have 
a mother; here she is! how do you like her?” 

The boy looked in amazement at the lovely lady. 

"Kiss your mother!” laughed Fortunat. 

.Jonel took Madame Belota^ s hand and brushed it 
lightly. 

"To you will I be a tender father! ” cried Fortunat. 
He bent over the sick child, and pressed loving 
kisses upon her golden hair and her pretty 'blue eyes. 


IV 


The news of Herr Fortunat’s engagement to Mad- 
ame Belota was sent that same day to Madame 
Falutza by a messenger on horseback. 

The old lady was beside herself with delight when 
she read Fortunat's few lines, which contained the 
glad tidings that he had proposed for Madame Be- 
lota' s hand, that she had favored his suit, and that 
the wedding would take place the next month. 

Madame Falutza ordered her carriage at once, so as 
to drive over to Banesti and to hear all particulars 
from Fortunat himself. 

It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon when 
her clumsy calash rumbled through the village. 

There she met Father Constantin. 

To meet a priest was considered an evil omen, and 
at any other time Madame Falutza would have lost her 
temper had such a misfortune occurred. 

But that day she felt so happy, that she stopped 
her carriage, called the priest to her, and told him the 
news of the day. 

And thus it happened that Father Constantin was 
one of the first to hear of Herr Fortunat' s engage- 
ment to the lovely widow. 

The priest, who was just in the act of repairing to 
the church in order to conduct the afternoon service, 

62 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


63 


turned and directed his steps to Naftali’s tavern, 
which was in the center of the village, in the immedi- 
ate neighborhood of the primarie. 

Father Constantin, as he hastened to the tavern, 
hummed a worldly tune; he seemed to be very merry, 
and for weighty reasons. 

“If the Bojar marries,” he murmured, as he seated 
himself upon a wooden bench before the tavern, “I will 
wager a hundred to one that the church will get new 
pictures and new holy vessels, and I should not be 
surprised if I were to receive a new dalmatica and an 
increase in my salary. And if I perform the cere- 
mony, surely a dozen — if it please God, perhaps two 
dozen — ducats will fall to my share. God preserve 
Herr Fortunat and his future bride.” 

After expressing this ‘wish, he drew from his olive- 
green threadbare gown a two-franc piece, that he had 
concluded to sacrifice that day, laid it upon*the bench 
next him, and called the tavern-keeper. 

“Naftali, an oke of the best wine.” 

Soon after, Naftali appeared with a bottle of wine in 
his hand, and from behind him loomed up the tall, 
cylindrical hat of Herr Brunner, Jonel’s tutor. 

Herr Brunner had for some time given ZilibiPsan- 
tir’s daughter two German lessons a week gratis, and 
on those days it was his custom to drop into Naftali’s 
tavern for awhile. 

He seated himself next the priest, who offered him 
a glass of wine and forthwith told him the news. 

“What you have just told me,” said Brunner, after 
having tasted his wine, “is not especially good news 


64 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


for me. I know that Madame Belota, who received 
her education in Paris, does not like the Germans. 
Therefore my stay at the castle will not be long, but 
that is only a trifling matter. The principal thing is 
that Herr Fortunat’s quiet, peaceful life will be dis- 
turbed and that my dear pupil will fall under the gov- 
ernment of a step-mother. I should feel very sorry 
if the poor boy were to be made unhappy. Yes, Father 
Constantin, a beautiful woman is very powerful. Your 
health!" 

Herr Brunner arose, emptied his glass at one 
draught, shook the priest’s hand, and withdrew. 

Slowly and rapt in thought Herr Brunner walked 
along the street until he came to a small white house 
covered with reeds, whose court-yard was fenced in by 
a hedge. 

Here lived Zilibi Psantir. The house had three 
windows on the side of the street. Upon the ledges 
of these windows were several flower pots. 

Brunner had to stoop to enter the low door of a 
poorly-furnished room, in which was a glass cupboard 
filled with books and a small etagere with a silver 
goblet, and several red, green and blue cut glasses. 
Upon a wooden stool before a round table, upon which 
lay a violin case, sat Zilibi in his shirt-sleeves, a pair 
of spectacles upon his nose, looking at a large folio 
and murmuring softly to himself. 

"Always industrious, always poring over the Tal- 
mud!" cried Brunner, grasping the Jew’s hand and 
shaking it heartily. 

"You are a clever man," said Zilibi, "and know 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


05 


what pleasure study affords. When I sit like this 
with my books, I forget everything.” 

“I envy you,” said Brunner; “but it seems to me 
that you were not cut out for a dry Talmud student, 
but rather for an artist- In a person who loves the 
violin as passionately as you, and has so much music- 
al talent, there is the material for one. And you 
would surely have become one, if you had been 
brought up a Christian.” 

“Say not so,” cried Zilibi; “I thank God that I am 
a Jew. ” 

“Thank you! what good has your faith done you? It 
has only brought you sorrow and trouble!” 

“Quite right; and yet I am happy. But talking does 
no good. If I were to tell you that it is a pride and 
good-fortune to be a Jew, that it is a pride to know 
and to feel that our people are as indestructible as this 
earth, that we live and thrive even if our enemies be as 
numerous as the drops in the ocean — if I were to tell 
you this — you would be unable to comprehend it. Look 
at me! I am a poor, persecuted Jew; a peddler, a 
jester, a fiddler; I have often not ten red centimes 
with which to buy myself and my child bread. Not- 
withstanding that, I do not envy you Christians, nor 
the prefect, nor even the minister — not a soul! For 
who is the equal of the Jew, who knows the history 
of his people, who has felt the pain of two thousand 
years of suffering in his soul? You think I should have 
been an artist, had I been a Christian? Do not say 
that again! Do you think that I could put so much 
feeling into my music as I do now, if I did not bear 
5 


66 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


in my bosom all the sorrows of the Jewish people and 
my own? Do you believe that?” 

Zilibi had talked himself into a fever of excitement. 
During his speech he paced the room, gesticulating 
wildly with his arms. Finally he stopped before 
Brunner, seized him by a button of his coat, and 
looked in his eyes. 

“You are a very great fool,” said Brunner; “but 
where is Lea?” 

“I do not know. For several days the girl has not 
been like herself; to-day she was with me at Olesti, 
and while I sold some articles in Madame Belota’s 
garden, she talked with madame’s little daughter, and 
with Jonel. God knows what they said to her, for all 
at once she ran away. And when I arrived home, she 
was sitting there in tears. I asked: ‘What is the 
matter. Lea? what have they done to you?* She only 
looked at me, sprang up, and hurried away." 

“When you go peddling, are you obliged to take the 
child with you?” 

“What else should I do? I am old and ill, and the 
poor, dear child wants to go with me to assist me. 
Only God knows how my heart is troubled, when I 
think of her future,” added he, sighing deeply. 

‘‘You must have her educated. She is an unusually 
bright child; something might be made of her. She 
has your artistic blood.” 

‘‘Leave me peace! what can be made of a poor Jew- 
ess? I should have her educated? For that I should 
have to send her into town ; where should I obtain the 
money? where?” 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


67 


“Perhaps Herr Fortunat could assist you!” 

“Do not mention that man to me! ” cried Zilibi, “If 
he were to offer me a thousand ducats to-day I would 
fling them in his face, as sure as there is a God above 
me.” 

Brunner looked at the Jew in astonisnment. 

“What have you against Fortunat?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” said Zilibi, gloomily. He 
turned away, walked to the window, and began to drum 
upon the panes with his fingers. 

For awhile there was a pause. 

“As you know,” began Brunner, “that Fortunat is to 
marry Madame Belota next month?” 

'Zilibi turned quickly. “Madame Belota!” cried he, 
“what did you say?” 

“It is so!” replied Brunner. 

“Then I must go to the castle to congratulate him, ” 
laughed Zilibi. “You can give no lesson to-day,” con- 
tinued he; “1 must, as I said, go to the castle to con- 
gratulate Herr Fortunat, and from there I must walk 
fully a mile to Valeni, to speak a good word to Val- 
samaki .for the Jewish tavern-keeper of Valeni, whom 
this Valsamaki wishes to drive from the village. It 
is a long journey for me, but I must go! ” 

“I wish you success,” said Brunner, as he arose, 
“Auf Wiedersehen.” 


An hour later Zilibi Psantir was on the way to the 
manor of Banesti Lea walked nisxt him. 

He had tried in vain to persuade the girl to remain 
at home, “What will people think of you,” he had 


68 


JOJ^EL FORT UN AT 


said to her, “if you trudge along with me like a gypsy? 
Stay at home; you have German books; read, write; 
let me go my way alone, silly child!” 

“I shall not,” Lea had answered, stamping her foot; 
“I shall not let you go alone. Firstly, because you 
are weak, and might grow faint upon the way; and 
secondly, so that you can give away no money. We 
need our money ourselves. I need a new dress, new 
shoes, and a new hat you might buy me, tco; we are 
poor people and no one gives us anything. Why do 
you give away all that you earn?” 

Zilibi could find no answer. 

He felt guilty, and made up his mind from that 
time forth to be more saving of his money. 

“The child is right,” thought he; “how can I give 
alms? A rich man can do so, but not a poor devil 
like me! The child is right.” 

They proceeded on their way. 

He walked silently and thoughtfully along the street, 
contrary to his custom. He did not look at the peo- 
ple he met — did not even greet the priest, who had 
forgotten all about the service, and was still sitting 
at the tavern, drinking. 

The girl was struck by his silence. 

She asked him if he felt ill. 

But he onl}^ replied by a motion of his hand, and 
an energetic shake of his head, like one who did not 
wish to be disturbed in his thoughts. 

He felt so strange. 

During the eight years that he had spent in Banesti 
he had never been to the manor. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


69 


If he accidentally met Fortiinat he tried to get out 
of his way as quickly as possible 

The question why he did not try to gain the lord 
of Banesti’s favor, as he was a man from whom one 
could earn money, he always ans-wered with the words: 

'T cannot bear the man.” 

No one knew the cause of his dislike to Fortunat, 
and Zilibi told no one how and when the lord of 
Banesti had been connected with his life. 

Who would have believed that Zilibi bore about 
with him a deep sorrow— that in the heart of the little 
jester hatred of Fortunat glowed — a hatred which 
was just as deep and implacable as upon that day 
when he felt Fortunat’ s whip on his shoulders, as he 
demanded his sister from him. 

His poor, unfortunate sister! 

He had forgiven her long since for breaking his heart 
and bringing disgrace upon his head. 

Had she not atoned for everything by her suicide? 
At first Zilibi had thought he could not outlive the 
sorrow and shame. But in the course of a year his 
grief had turned to silent sadness. 

He had read, in the large folios in which the great* 
est thoughts of the wise men of his race were written, 
that only he was great — that only he deserved to be 
called wise —who could bear the sorrows of life with 
the patience of a Job, and the smiling wisdom of a 
Solomon. 

And he tried to live according to those rules. 

Shortly after the unhappy suicide of his sister his 
wife died. He bore up under this blow too, left 


70 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Jassy, traveled about several years with a band, and 
finally returned to Banesti. 

He learned that his sister was buried in the park 
of the manor. 

He wanted to live near her grave, near her child. He 
found out from old Alex upon what day his sister had 
ended her life. 

On the anniversary of her death, he sent two tapers 
to the synagogue. At night he crept to her grave, 
clung to the statue, which was above it, and there 
the jester of Banesti could be seen weeping bitterly 
and shaking his fists at the man in the castle. 

All his philosophy deserted him when he felt his 
sister’s grave under his feet. 

There was no justice upon earth, no avenging God 
in heaven, as long as the man who had ruined his 
sister was living happily. 

But was he really happy? 

Zilibi often considered this question, and when he 
looked at Fortunat and contrasted him with the dash- 
ing, gay cavalier he had formerly known, he was 
obliged to confess that his sister’s death had not been 
without its effect upon him. 

And he imagined that sometime in the stilly night, 
her bloody form had appeared to him, had awakened 
him out of his sleep, and caused the perspiration to 
start upon his brow. This thought was some small 
consolation to Zilibi. But it did not satisfy his hatred. 
He longed to see that man before him, broken in body 
and mind, crushed and miserable. 

And now he heard that Fortunat was about to wed 
his former fiancee, Madame Belota. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


71 


He was going to begin a new life, to be happy 
again — as if he had a right to be — he who had driven 
a woman who loved him to her death, who had robbed 
a brother of his sister, and made an outcast of a re- 
spectable Jewess. 

A strange mood took possession* of Zilibi at these 
thoughts. He laughed aloud. They had reached the 
manor. 

“Remain here, my child!” said he to Lea. 

He entered the court-yard. 

“What brings you here, Zilibi?” asked Alex in sur- 
prise. 

“I must speak with Herr Fortunat,” replied Zilibi, 
who hastened past Alex, and soon stood before the 
lord of Banesti. 

Fortunat lay with half-closed eyes upon the sofa. 
Upon the Jew’s entrance he sprang up. 

“What do you want?” he demanded of him. 

Zilibi did not answer immediately. He took several 
steps forward and then said: 

“A wise man of our race — named Hillel— has taught 
us that we should love our enemies. I follow the 
teaching of our prophet. You are my enemy, yet do 
I love you. What do you say to that?” 

“You are an odd fellow,” said Fortunat. “Let us 
forget everything 1” added he, extending his hand to 
Zilibi. 

Zilibi grasped it, and a peculiar smile hovered 
about his mouth. 

“The Gentiles are surely an excellent people, and 
you, Herr Fortunat, are the most excellent of the ex- 


72 


JONEL FORTUN^T 


cellent. How kind you are, how noble! You offer the 
poor Jew this lovely, white, Bojar hand. It is the 
same that formerly held the whip, which fell upon my 
shoulders. It is an old story. You have, perhaps, for- 
gotten it, sir; I know you have not a good memory, 
but,” added he, softly, “I have! Well, what I wished 
to say is: Do you know why I have come here?” 

“Why?” 

“To congratulate you. Madame Belota is a hand- 
some lady, wealthy and in good health; you will have 
handsome and healthy children. Why not?” 

Fortunat was strangely moved by these words. He 
was silent. 

“I wished also to ask something of you, Herr For- 
tunat. ” 

I 

“I shall grant your wish if it be possible.” 

“Dear sir, you have in your garden my poor sister’s 
remains. What do you want with them? Give them 
to me. She was a Jewess, and I should like to have 
her buried in our cemetery. Do me this favor, give 
them to me.” 

“Impossible!” cried Fortunat. 

“I do not understand you. I know you loved the 
handsome Jewess with the lovely red lips. But give 
me the dead — give her bones to the jester of Banesti; 
they might interfere with your happiness when you 
kissed your wife. From here,” continued he, stepping 
to the window, “you can see the grave — it is no sight 
for happy people. Give me my sister’s body,” added 
he, beseechingly. 

“I cannot.” 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


73 


Zilibi laughed softly to himself; he thought awhile, 
then he said: 

“Then grant me another favor: winter is approach- 
ing; I need money for wood; I should like to earn 
some. You know I love to play the fiddle; let me 
play at your wedding.” 

“That favor I gladly grant you — neither shall you 
want — for wood this winter.” 

“I thank you, gracious sir,” said Zilibi. 

He bowed low and left the room with a smile upon 
his lips. 

On the door-step he found Lea sitting. 

“Come, child,” said he, touching her shoulder, “we 
have still a long road to travel.” 

The girl sprang up and looked at him confusedly. 

“Where are your thoughts, child?” asked he, taking 
her head between his hands and gazing tenderly in 
her eyes. 

“Father,” said the girl, and a burning blush suf- 
fused her cheeks, “it is nice to be rich. Jonel has 
just gone for a ride upon his black pony. He was 
dressed so beautifully, and looked so handsome. And 
how proud he is! He did not look at me once! He 
is right! Who cares for a poor Jewess?” 

“Be silent, child! ” murmured Zilibi. 

He took her hand and silently they wended their 
way. 


V 


Herr Valsamaki, the lord of Valeni, a naturalized 
Greek, was a man of about fifty, tall and slender, 
with a thin, beardless face, and hollow cheeks of a 
hectic hue. His pointed chin, his bloodless, thin 
lips, beneath which were white, sharp teeth, his 
aquiline nose, his sunken, dark eyes, which glowed 
like two coals, his bushy eyebrows, his low, furrowed 
brow, half-covered with his hair, which grew very 
low, gave to his face a peculiar bird-of-prey expression. 

He usually spoke low, perhaps to spare his weak 
chest; but when he was a trifle excited, or upon con- 
cluding a bargain, sharp, cutting tones issued from his 
mouth, and his whole body would twitch with nervous 
excitement. He was a very industrious, active hus- 
bandman. 

The tall, dusty form of the lord of Valeni, mounted 
upon his stout brown horse, now loomed up in the field, 
now in the yard of the mill, now at the stables, and 
now in the village, scolding, screaming and bluster- 
ing. When the grain had been garnered, and had brought 
a good price, Herr Valsamaki did not deprive himself 
of a rest. 

But it was not* a long one. 

He knew of no greater crime than to have money 
lying idle. 


74 


JONEL FORTUNE? 


75 


“Mone}/ should beget money,” said he. And it did. 
The land-owners and farmers for ten miles around 
knew that Herr Valsamaki always had money at his 
disposal. 

But they only turned to him in cases of extremity, 
for his lowest rate of interest was twenty per cent. 

And these twenty-per-cents, had in the course of 
ten years — for it was as long as that that Herr Val- 
samaki, once a plain farmer, had been the owner of 
Valeni — had turned into a good, round sum. 

Zilibi maintained that Valsamaki had a fortune of 
at least a hundred thousand ducats. And Zilibi 
knew what he was talking about. 

“For what does this man practice usury, and why is 
he so parsimonious?” 

People often asked themselves this question. And 
they were right. For Herr Valsamaki was unmarried, 
and had only a few distant relatives in the village, but 
they dared not cross his threshold. 

Always striving after gold, he had had no leisure to 
think of marrying. 

But since he had made Madame Belota’s acquaint- 
ance this thought had arisen. 

He had paid her several neighborly visits, but with 
the penetration of a practical man he had soon dis- 
covered that his suit would be fruitless. 

He did not grieve much over it. 

But the consciousness of his loneliness, the thought 
that his “pretty money,” that he had gathered together 
with so much care, could give him no pleasure did 
not leave him. 


76 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


For some time he had felt seriously ill. The Ger- 
man physician, whom that day he had consulted about 
his chest affection, shook his head doubtfully. 

He did not think much of medicine, but when the 
doctor shook his head, after examining his chest an 
hour and asking him a hundred questions, he could 
not forget it. The thought of death had frightened 
him, and he felt a sudden longing, such as he had 
never experienced before, for life, for pleasure, for 
love. 

He had often been depressed of late. But so low- 
spirited as he was that day, his old housekeeper, the 
gypsy, Paraskiza, had rarely seen him. 

He lay upon a low, worn divan before the door of his 
little house — a mean building consisting of three 
whitewashed rooms. 

In the center of the court-yard was a poverty-stricken 
smithy, from which resounded the strokes of an anvil. 
The sun was setting. Crowds of peasants were pass- 
ing the court on their way to the village, where the 
tones of a gypsy fiddle were to be heard. 

In the yard several dogs were fighting, and by way 
of diversion would chase a flock of geese, which, 
screeching loudly, would rush in all directions with out- 
stretched wings. 

Before the gate lay several hogs grunting content- 
edly 

Suddenly the sound of bells was heard; a herd of 
sheep passed by; and soon a drove of cows, and dirty 
little buffaloes, under the care of a black-bearded, 
barefooted fellow entered the court-yard. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


77 


After awhile all was still, and only the humming 
of a Jew^s-harp in the stables, broke the silence. 

Then the dogs, who were lying near Herr Valsam- 
aki, began to bark loudly. 

At the gate appeared Zilibi with Lea. 

The girl remained standing there, while Zilibi ap- 
proached the proprietor. 

“Good evening, gracious sir! “ said Zilibi. 

Valsamaki looked up. 

“Ah, it is you!” said he, without changing his post- 
ure; “what is the news?” 

Zilibi was in the habit of performing small com- 
missions occasionally for Herr Valsamaki, and as he 
was satisfied with very little pay, he was a welcome 
guest at Valeni. 

“Everything is in the same old groove,” said Zilibi; 
“all aje grumbling about poor crops. Only you have 
no cause for complaint!” 

“Indeed, I cannot complain of my crops, but prices 
are not good. Have you a purchaser?” 

“Ten to one!” said Zilibi, “but to-day I have other 
business with you. 

“Other business?” repeated Valsamaki, seizing the 
glass of milk that his housekeeper had placed before 
him, and drinking from it. 

“Yes,” said Zilibi, “some serious business. I have 
heard that you wish to drive the tavern-keeper, 
Baruch, from the village Do not do so, gracious 
sir; leave the poor man, who has six children to sup- 
port, the means of obtaining his daily bread.” 

“It cannot be,” cried Valsamaki, rising, and his usu- 


78 


JOr^EL FORTUhlAT 


ally soft voice sounded harsh and grating; “the man 
is setting the villagers against me; it cannot be! 
Who is that girl?” he added in surpise, pointing to 
Lea. 

“My daughter,” said Zilibi. 

With affecting words the Jew began to implore; he 
represented to Valsamaki that poor Baruch had con- 
ducted the tavern for twenty years — that he was inca- 
pable of carrying on any other business; he promised 
faithfully that in the future Baruch should give no 
cause for dissatisfaction. He hinted that in case of ne- 
cessity, the tavern-keeper would pay a larger sum for 
the right of selling liquor; he spoke so earnestly, so 
pathetically, and his voice was as beseeching as if 
his own happiness were at stake. 

Valsamaki did not interrupt him. 

He stood before the Jew with his hands behind him 
looking beyond Ziiibi at the girl, whose head was 
lighted up by the last rays of the sun. 

Lea looked charming. 

She wore her little white frock, that became her 
so well. Her black curls nestled on her neck, her 
cheeks were rosy from the exercise she had taken, 
and her large, burning eyes were fixed upon Valsam- 
aki, who, enchanted with her appearance, was gaz- 
ing at her. 

“Say yes, gracious sir,” he heard Zilibi implore. 

“Yes, yes!” cried Valsamaki. 

“Thank you!” cried Zilibi joyfully. Then he turned 
and called: “Lea!” 

The girl hastened to him. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


79 


“Thank Herr Valsamaki, child; he has granted us 
a favor.” 

Lea seized the man's bony hand, and looked in his 
face, smiling naively. 

Herr Valsamaki experienced a peculiar sensation as 
she pressed his hand in her soft, small one, and looked 
at him with her wonderfully beautiful eyes. He 
stooped and pressed a light kiss upon her curls. 

As he did so, the thought occurred to him that this 
child in a few years would develop into a magnifi- 
cent woman, and bow happy he might be could he 
call such a creature his. 

“How old is your child, Zilibi?” 

“She was twelve years old on the tenth of July.” 

“What would you do for your daughter if you were 
a rich man?” 

Zilibi looked at him in surprise. 

“What would I do for her? First I would send her 
to an institute in town, where she should remain until 
she was eighteen; when she had learned all that she 
could, I would have her marry. But these are air- 
castles, let us not speak of them.” 

“Listen, Zilibi,” said Valsamaki, “you know that I 
am a wealthy man, and that people look upon me as 
mean. That I am not the latter, I shall prove to you. 
The girl will amount to nothing in the country; that 
is as certain as that two and two are four. If you 
give your consent, I will send her at my expense to an 
institute where she will have and learn everything 
just as the wealthy girls do. And when she is ready 
to marry, we will find a suitable husband for her; 


80 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


and she shaii not be dowerless I promise you. What 
do you say^to that?" 

The poor Jew stood there open-mouthed. He could 
not believe his ears. 

Valsainaki, the wealthy land-owner, who called a 
hundred thousand golden ducats his own, and never 
laid out ten centimes without some practical object, 
wished to have his Lea educated, and to provide her 
with a dowry! It was absurd! It was impossible! 

And yet, the man had spoken seriously. He there- 
fore only needed to say “yes," and his greatest, bitter- 
est and only care would be scattered to the winds. 
His beloved Lea’s future would be assured. 

But he could not bring himself to utter that “yes." 

Had the man been a rich Jew, he would not have 
hesitated a second, to accept such an offer with thank- 
fulness, but a Gentile! How was it that that Gentile 
wished to be kind to a poor Jew? For what? Why? 

If he had base intentions — if he only wanted to edu- 
cate his Lea, in order to — 

Zilibi felt a pang at his heart. He would not think 
of such a thing, he told himself. 

"I desire a short and distinct answer," he heard 
Valsamaki say — and his voice was again harsh and 
grating. 

But Zilibi did not anwser. He gazed gloomily and 
silently before him. 

Then Valsamaki turned to the girl: 

“What do you say, my child?” 

Lea’s eyes sparkled, her lips quivered. She em- 
braced her father passionately, she kissed his eyes and 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


81 


' mouth, and laughed and cried in the same breath: “Say 
yes, father, say yes!” 

A melancholy smile played about Zilibi’s mouth. 

He felt as if an invisible hand were tearing his 
child from his heart, and he was powerless to keep her 
with him. 

“Gracious sir,” said he gravely, “I believe that 
you mean well by my child. God bless you for it. 
I consent. I do so with a heavy heart, for Lea 
is as dear to me as the apple of my eye, but I must 
consider her future. When do you think she will have 
to leave fof town?’* 

“The first of November, when the schools open. 
Come again in a few days and we will speak more 
about it.’’ Then he kissed Lea’s brow, and they de- 
parted. 


6 


VI 


Father Constantin’s suspicions had been fulfilled. 
Several days before Herr Fortunat’s marriage the lit- 
tle church at Banesti received some new holy pictures, 
and coachman Alex gave to the priest himself in the 
name of his master, a brand-new vestment, and told 
him that he was to wear it at his nuptials. Father 
Constantin was delighted, his eyes beamed, and his 
nose as well. Whereas formerly he had usually walked 
silently, gravely and coweringly — as became a poor 
country priest — from the church to Naftali’s tavern, 
and from there to the house of God, he now went his 
way with head well erect and eyes that looked proudl}^ 
to the right and left. All at once he discovered the 
importance of his position, the holiness of his mis- 
sion. Up to that time he had only married common 
folks, poor peasants, laborers, and at the very best, 
farmers. Now he was to unite a “highly respectable, ” 
wealthy pair. The feeling of pride which possessed 
him at these thoughts, was, however, not unmixed with 
any other. 

There were joined to it many others, which were not 
in harmony with his solemn duty. 

Father Constantin had, for example, thought of the 
well-provided table at the manor, at which he would 
be entitled to a place of honor in his capacity of pas- 
tor. His imagination conjured up wonderful dishes 

82 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


83 


which he only knew from hearsay, and his mouth be- 
gan to water as he pictured to himself the bottles of 
champagne upon ice. 

He only knew this wine by name, but in the name 
alone lay something peculiarly musical, sv/eet and 
alluring. 

Father Constantin, who frequented Naf tali’s tavern 
more than ever, drank the wine which the host poured 
out, with silent contempt; but the day. before the 
wedding, he could restrain himself no longer, and ex- 
pressed himself very forcibly about its quality. 

Unfortunately he could find no congenial soul to un- 
derstand his criticism. 

What did Naftali know — what did the mayor even 
know — about champagne? Brunner, the only one ca- 
pable of understanding him,- had not, alas! put in an 
appearance at the tavern for several days. 

Brunner had his hands full with preparations for 
the wedding festivities. 

Herr Fortunat had informed him that the marriage 
would be celebrated very quietly and without any show 
whatever, in the little church at Banesti, and that 
scarcely a dozen people would be invited. But Brun- 
ner was determined not to hide, his light under a 
bushel. 

He sent into town for a number of flags and banners 
in the national colors, which were designed to adorn 
the manor and the village upon the fete day. 

Then he consulted with the mayor and the school- 
master of Banesti, and they decided that the school- 
children of both sexes, and indeed all the population 


84 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


should assemble on the wedding-day in holiday attire 
before the church, and greet the arrival of the pair 
with a cheer. 

Furthermore, they decided to illuminate the manor, 
and to erect a triumphal arch before the church. 

With Zilibi, who had gathered together an orches- 
tra of five musicians, Brunner held conferences daily, 
about the selections which were to be played during 
the wedding-breakfast. 

The fire-works bothered Herr Brunner the most, and 
he would not have succeeded, if the village smith had 
not helped him, for the latter understood something 
of the art of pyrotechnics. 

Yes, they were hard, trying days for poor Brunner, 
but he worked with pleasure, for he had received a 
new proof of Herr Fortunat^s kindness and delicacy. 

The latter had sent for him one morning and in- 
formed him that after his marriage he would move to 
the residence; that he was going to send Jonel abroad 
to be educated, and proposed that he should remain 
at Banesti to oversee the estates. 

“I know,” Herr Fortunat had added with a smile, 
“that you are no great agriculturist, but my former 
overseer, Alecu, will attend to everything as hereto- 
fore. Your business will be to watch Alecu, who is 
not very clear as to the laws of mine and thine; I will 
pay you a liberal salary. You will have ample time 
for your studies, and whenever you come to the resi- 
dence, you will be a welcome guest.” 

Brunner accepted this offer with delight. He was 
relieved of all care with regard to his future; he liked 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


85 


country life, he would still be connected with the 
Fortunat family, and could lay aside some money 
each year. After several years, so he told himself, he 
would possess enough money to enable him to live up- 
on the interest derived from it. 

Then he would return to Germany, settle in his 
beloved Heidelberg, lead a quiet life— and who knows 
— perhaps he too might find a young, pretty widow,, 
who would object neither to his bald head nor to the 
end of his nose. 

If Father Constantin had known what sweet thoughts 
of the future were in Herr Brunner’s head, he would 
have understood why Brunner, . upon his numerous 
walks from the castle to the village and back again, 
laughed to himself, while he off and on would hum a 
snatch of some student “Lied” in his deepest bass; 
why he was so joyous, so cheerful, as if Banesti to- 
gether with everything that lived and moved therein, 
belonged to the poor German student of philosophy. 

And had he been given Banesti and all appertaining 
to it, he would not have been any happier than upon 
that day when with beating pulse, he looked with pride 
upon his work. 

The only street of Banesti had been thoroughly 
cleansed, a circumstance which had never occurred be- 
fore as far as anyone could remember. 

From the roof of every cottage, of every hut, a flag 
floated merrily in the breeze, the men and women had 
adorned themselves for the occasion. 

Before the church was erected a triumphal arch up- 
on which Brunner with his own hand had painted in 


86 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


large, red letters: “God save the betrothed couple!” 

The little church which had been newly white- 
washed, and whose screen was ornamented with gar- 
lands, was scarcely recognizable. 

In addition to all this it was a magnificent October 
day. 

Even the sky seemed to have adorned itself for the 
occasion, for it was as blue as upon a May-day, and 
the sun gilded everything with its soft rays. 

But Herr Brunner’s ardor was somewhat dampened. 
He had hoped that the ceremony would take place in 
the daytime, and that the company would have a 
chance to see the little town in all its glory. 

But the sun was already very low, when the last 
wedding-guest, Herr Prefect Aldean arrived at the 
manor of Banesti. The shadows of night had fallen 
upon the village, in the heavens some stars twinkled, 
when the guns were fired to announce that the pro- 
cession had left the castle. 

So many and such large wax tapers had never been 
burned before in the little church at Banesti, as upon 
that evening — red, blue and yellow tapers — beneath 
whose light the hol}^ pictures which covered the walls, 
looked so strange. 

Father Constantin in his new gown looked very grave 
and dignified, and the old sacristan, already some- 
what intoxicated, who stood next him mechanically 
swinging the censer, tried to look grave and dignified 
too. 

The rumbling of a droschke was heard. The church 
began to fill quickly. 


JONEL FORTUhlAT 


87 


The ceremony began. 

Father Constantin had received especial orders to 
make it as short as possible, but the poor priest forgot 
this order in the excitement of being in the presence 
of such a “highly-respectable” assemblage. 

He raised his voice; he pronounced every word 
clearly, and distinctly — read and read and drawled as 
earnestly as if his salvation depended upon it. 

Madame Belota grew impatient. 

The entire ceremony in the poverty-stricken little 
church seemed to her ridiculous, stupid and clownish. 

At first she had wished to have the marriage cele- 
brated at home. But Madame Falutza opposed that. 

And so in order not to vex the old lady, she had to 
submit. Her mouth twitched nervously. 

She began to examine the holy pictures. 

Suddenly she turned her head to the right as if she 
knew that some one was staring at her, and she looked 
into Lea’s two black eyes, which rested with surprised 
admiration upon her face. 

Lea stood in the chancel, her elbows upon the balus- 
trade, her head between her hands, and gazed enrapt 
ured at Madame Belota. 

It was the first time in her life that Lea had ever 
dared to enter a church. 

Everything in it seemed so strange, so beautiful 
and imposing to her. This was quite a different place 
of worship from the miserable, bare and damp syna- 
gogue. The walls were covered with beautiful paint- 
ings. The shrine, which separated the nave of the 
church from the holy of holies, glistened and shim- 


88 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


mered with pure gold and silver. From the dome 
was supended an enormous chandelier whose lusters 
contained all the colors of the rainbow, and which 
ended in a massive brass ball. 

Behind the altar, before which the couple stood, 
arose two golden columns upon which two thick red- 
and-green-striped tapers burned. 

Even Father Constantin in his glittering gown was 
scarcely recognizable, he looked so fine. 

The company made a deeper impression upon the 
girl’s mind than the brilliantly-lighted church, than 
the gaudy, holy pictures, than the peculiar lamps upon 
the shrine. 

So many and such aristocratic people she had never 
approached before. Madame Belota fascinated her. 
She was so handsome, so pale, so proud, and the 
diamonds in her ears sparkled so brightly. 

How she envied Jonel, because he could live near 
this lady and call her “mother.” 

Now her eyes met the proud lady’s lovely dark-blue 
ones. Lea shuddered and lowered her lids. 

The ceremony was almost over, the rings had been 
exchanged, and the choir, consisting of half a dozen 
boys,began the customary song of jubilee: “Isaia dan- 
tuesce, ” (Isaiah dances), while Brunner stood upon a 
chair and pelted the wedding guests with flowers. 

Lea saw — she heard nothing more. 

She stood there and dreamed. 

Her dream was a strange one. 

She saw herself grown into a tall, handsome and 
proud woman, in a costly dress, with sparkling jewels. 


JOhJEL FORT UN AT 


89 


standing before an altar, and next her a slender black- 
bearded man. 

All eyes were fixed upon her with admiration; be- 
fore her stood an elderly man in a bright gown, who 
swung a censer, the fumes of the incense arose, and 
clear, young voices sang- hymns of praise; then she 
drove through the village in a fine calash, the people 
stood before their doors and doffed their caps, bowed 
low and whispered: 

“Look! that is Lea, the beautiful Lea, Zilibi^s 
daughter, who has grown so tall, so handsome, so 
wealthy, and. has become a Christian.” 

Suddenly a hand was laid upon her shoulder. The 
sacristan stood before her. 

“I must close the church,” said the man roughly; 
“begone!” 

Lea awoke. 

The greater part of the lights had been extinguished. 

The church, which so lately had been filled with 
people, was empty and quiet, and the few candles that 
were yet burning, sputtered dismally. 

For a second she stared at the sacristan with her 
large eyes. 

Then she hurried out. 

The village was in a state of great excitement. 

Brunner had distributed a lot of tallow candles, 
and the mayor had seen to it that they were reserved 
for the illumination. 

The only street of Banesti was therefore brightly 
lighted — a circumstance which greatly excited the dogs, 
for they howled incessantly. 


90 


JOl^EL FORTUNAT 


Now and then a loud “hurra” issued from the throats 
of the street Arabs, who were assembled before the 
mayoralty, about a burning barrel of tar, from which 
a dark-red cloud of smoke arose. 

But the merriest place was Naftali’s tavern, where 
all sang, danced and rejoiced. 

Lea flew down the street, out of the village to the 
castle. Arrived at the same, she stopped breathless. 

The gate was wide open. In the court-yard, over 
which several burning tar kettles diffused a red light, 
some tables were spread, about which thie “quality” 
of the town sat gravely and silently with dishes be- 
fore them, plying their knives and forks. 

Beside every table there stood a ke'g from which 
barefooted urchins tapped wine, which they handed 
around in small glasses. 

Then Brunner’s cylindrical hat loomed up. As 
usual, when Herr Brunner was excited, his hat ^as 
on one side of his head. 

He walked, followed by the village smith, a tall, 
uncouth fellow, across the court-yard toward the sta- 
bles and was lost in the darkness. 

Suddenly from that direction came a hissing sound; 
a rocket flew through the air; then followed more 
rockets which broke into a rain of fiery colors. 

A general “ah!” of admiration was beard, and then 
from the open windows of the first floor, where the 
guests stood, resounded cries of “bravo!” and merry 
laughter. 

Lea had ventured into the court-yard. When she 
saw that no one was paying any attention to her, she 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


91 


walked as far as the perron, and looked into the hall, 
through which the servants were passing to and fro with 
dishes. 

For a while she stood there with beating heart. 
Then she entered the hall and flew up the carpeted 
steps. She passed into an anteroom, which opened 
into a large, brightly-lighted saloon, in which the 
guests were seated around a table. 

They seemed to be very merry. 

They sang, were noisy —glasses clinked and corks 
flew about. 

Suddenly a harsh voice, it was that of Herr Prefect 
Aldean, cried: “Music!” 

At this cry Zilibi, who, with five others who com- 
posed the orchestra, was stationed next the door, arose, 
struck the back of his fiddle with his bow, and at 
once the merry strains of a “hora” (Roumanian na- 
tional dance) began. 

Lea entered the room, crept shyly along to the 
estrade and stopped behind the bass-viol. 

Zilibi had never played with such fire as upon that 
day. His dark eyes glowed and the drops of perspira- 
tion stood upon his brow. 

When he had finished, shouts of applause rang 
through the room. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Herr Aldean, rising, 
“our capellmeister, Zilibi, is, as you perhaps know, 
also a jester; as such he must give us some of his 
best jokes!” 

“From the Talmud!” cried Father Constantin, who 
was partly intoxicatedo 


93 


JONEL FGRTUNAT 


"Yes, from the Talmud!" cried many voices, "from 
the Talmud!" Zilibi smiied and bowed. 

"In the Talmud," said he, "are not only jokes, but 
earnest sayings, for example: ‘Turn your eyes from 
a widow; do not desire her beauty.’" 

A roar of laughter followed these words. 

"The wise men of the Talmud," cried Herr Aldean, 
"did not know our amiable bride; I therefore propose 
another cheer for the newly-wedded pair! " 

"Hurrah, hurrah!" cried the guests. 

"I now propose," cried Herr Valsamaki, "that Zilibi 
give us another quotation from his Talmud, but it 
must be a more gallant one." 

"One of our wisest men — named Sirach," said 
^Zilibi, "has said: ‘Blessed be the man with a beau- 
tiful wife, the number of his days shall be doubled." 

"God save Herr Sirach! " cried Herr Aldean. 

"Hurrah, hurrah!" cried the gentlemen in chorus. 

The glasses were refilled and the musicians began 
to play another piece. 

Lea crept out on the balcony. There lay Florica, 
fair and pale, in her chair. Next her stood Jonel. 

‘T.ea, " cried Florica, joyfully, half-sitting up and 
grasping the girl’s hand, "I am glad that you came 
too! Your father plays so beautifully, so different 
from the general run of Bohemians. And he is a 
clever man, too; you must be a dever girl? There- 
fore you must not be angry with Jonel any more. My 
dear little brother," she turned roguishly to Jonel, 
"you cannot refuse a sister’s request: Give Lea your 
hand; conclude peace!" 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


93 


Jonel held out his hand. 

She grasped it and looked in his eyes. 

He turned away. 

“Do you know, Lea,” began Florica, confidentially, 
“that we are going to leave Banesti in a few days and 
move to Bucharest?” Without awaiting an answer, 
she continued quickly: “You, too, are going to the 
residence, to an institute. Herr Valsamaki told 
mamma so. That is nice. When you are at Bucha^ 
rest you must visit us; will you?” 

“As often as you will permit me, gracious fraulein, ’’ 
said Lea, affectionately. 

“What ‘gracious Fraulein!'” cried Florica; “I am 
no ‘gracious fraulein.' Say simply, Florica; we are to 
be friends! ” 

She drew the Jewess to her and kissed her several 
times. 

Lea seated herself at her new friend’s feet and 
pressed her hand without speaking. 

She felt happier than ever she had been in her life. 

What she had scarcely dared to hope had now come 
to pass. She had found a friend in a Bojar child; 
she was at a beautiful castle; Jonel had given her his 
hand; he did not look upon her with contempt as he 
formerly had done; she was no more the poor, shabby 
Jewess. 

It all had come so suddenly, she felt as if it were a 
dream. 

“Now, Jonel,” began Florica, “you must be more 
cheerful. Why are you so sad?” 

He did not reply. He stood leaning against the 
balustrade and looked into the hall. 


94 


JOl^EL FORT Uhl AT 


His eyes rested upon his father who sat at the head 
of the table next his lovely wife, who now belonged 
to him forever. 

The boy’s face was strangely grave; he felt very 
sad. Since his father’s engagement to Madame 
Belota, he had instinctively felt that he .was not loved 
as he had been. Days often passed upon which For- 
tunat paid no attention to him; and it pained the boy 
deeply, for he loved his father devotedly. 

He did not speak of it to a soul, not even to Brun- 
ner; but he thought much about it. 

At times he felt as if he must fall upon his father’s 
neck, and beg him not to marry Madame Belota. 

But when he saw him so happy, so cheerful, his 
throat closed and he could not utter a word. 

He often determined to love Madame Belota as a 
mother should be loved — as he had loved his own 
mother — who, as they told him, had died when he was 
quite a small boy. 

But he could not love the beautiful woman, who 
scarcely noticed him, who never spoke a kind word 
to him. He had never been so . unhappy as he was 
upon that particular day. Now Madame Belota was 
his mother, and a dark foreboding told him that 
from that time a stranger would stand between him 
and his father. 

The merry tones of music made him sadder; he 
would so gladly have told Florica his troubles, but 
how could he do so? 

Madame Belota was her own mother. Madame 
Belota loved Florica passionately. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


95 


He had often seen her draw the poor girl to her, and 
rain kisses upon her eyes and mouth. 

If she had only kissed him just once — had spoken a 
kind word to him! 

What had Madame Belota against him? 

Was he not always good? 

Why did she dislike him? 

These perplexing questions had flown through the 
boy’s brain when Lea appeared. 

He had given her his hand mechanically; now he 
regretted that he had done so. 

His dislike to Lea was reawakened. 

And as she stared at him with her great, black 
eyes, it seemed to him as if she could read his very 
soul — as if she suspected that the whole fete went 
against him; that he felt miserable. 

O, he could not bear those eyes. 

He would not give Lea the pleasure of seeing him 
sad. She might think that at the sight of her, the 
remembrance of that affair in the cemetery had re- 
occurred to him and made him miserable. 

He would be merry and joyous, and show her that 
he had forgotten that matter as if it had never hap- 
pened. And he would provoke her, as he well knew 
how. 

“What are you thinking of?” he heard Florica ask. 

He hastily brushed away some tears from his eyes 
with his hand. 

“I was thinking,” said he, “of a sad story.” 

A thought flew through his brain. 

Now he knew how he could humiliate Lea. 


96 


JOr^EL FORT Uhl AT 


“What kind of a story?” asked Florica. 

“The story of Mihai the Brave,” said he, “which 
I read once again to-day. Do you know, Lea, who 
Mihai the Brave was?” asked he. 

He laughed scornfully. “She does not know who 
Maihai the Brave was — but how should she know? 
What does Mihai the Brave concern the Jews! ” 

Lea started at these words. 

“Of course, if Mihai the Brave had been a rabbi, 
you would have known him!” continued he mock- 
ingly. 

Lea sprang up. 

Florica held her back. 

“Do not be so disagreeable, Jonel,” begged she, 
“if she does not know who Mihai the Brave was, 
why tell her. Pray tell us; you can relate so beauti- 
fully!” 

“All right,” said Jonel, “I will do so’” and he be- 
gan his story. 

During the past week he had read the little book 
which contained the story of the great Roumanian 
national hero — had read it often, so often that the 
book was all torn. 

The life of this prince, who at first had been an 
insignificant ban (duke) of Craiova, and who after- 
ward became the terror of the Turks, had inflamed 
the boy’s lively imagination. His tragical death had 
moved him deeply. 

He often dreamed of Mihai the Brave with open 
eyes; he saw him on his black horse at the head of 
his small brave detachment, putting to flight a whole 


JOhlEL FORT Uhl AT 


97 


army of Turks; he heard his voice encouraging those 
who were disheartened, and making heroes of the 
brave; he saw his handsome face with its black beard 
and magnificent eyes which had disarmed the execu- 
tjoner as he was about to cut off his head with an 
ax; and often in the stilly night, when he recalled 
the end of this hero — when that terrible scene arose 
before his eyes, when Bauer, the German captain of 
the Walloons, overthrew Mihai the Brave — bitter 
tears coursed down his cheeks. 

At first Jone) hesitated. 

But when he saw that Lea was listening intently, 
the words poured rapidly from his mouth. 

And the more he spoke the more vivacious grew 
his story, the more excited his gestures; the muscles 
of his face twitched and his eys sparkled. 

Now and then he stopped; he sought a comparison, 
a suitable word, in order to portray that mighty pict^ 
ure which he had in his mind, and when he found 
them, the words came quickly. 

Lea sank upon her knees, her elbows upon the edge 
of the invalid^ s chair, her head between her hands, 
and looked into the boy’s face breathlessly, with 
feverish excitement, as if she wished to catch every 
word. 

When Jonel finished his story, the hall was empty. 

The company, in search of fresh air had gone into 
the park, where the sounds of music reached them. 

Lea sprang up and looked about her confusedly. 

Jonel wiped the perspiration from his brow; he was 
weary and breathed with difficulty. 


98 


JONEL FORTUNylT 


"Good night, Florica, " said Lea, giving her hand to 
her friend; "I must go in search of my father!" 

The proposition of seeking fresh air in the park, 
and of there dancing a hora, was made by Herr Aldean, 
and unanimously carried. 

It was a wonderful October night. 

In the dark-blue heavens, which were bestrewn with 
glittering stars, rose the moon full and bright, envel- 
oping the park in a silvery veil. 

A light breeze swayed the boughs, which were for 
the most part leafless, and which whispered softly and 
mysteriously. 

Lea wandered along the walk, bordered on both sides 
by enormous oaks, toward the roundel in the center of 
the park, where the guests had assembled. 

Next the basin filled with withered leaves stood 
Father Constantin, who had placed his hat upon the 
puffy-cheeked Triton, surrounded by the five musicians, 
and to their accompaniment sang a song, which was 
often interrupted by applause. 

By the statue next the chapel stood Zilibi, his fid- 
dle under his right arm, staring before him. 

He had drunk much; his head was heavy. 

The entire evening he had to all appearances been 
in high spirits, in fact almost merry. 

But it was a merriment which the sad expression in 
his eyes belied. 

He took a peculiar delight in playing at the wed- 
ding of the man whom he hated so bitterly. 

He felt as if the irony must strike Fortunat. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


99 


And indeed it seemed to have done so. 

Zilibi’s eyes bad rested upon him the whole even- 
ing without once meeting his gaze. 

And as Zilibi stood by the grave of his Rachel, 
and saw before him that man so ha py in the posses-, 
sion of his beautiful wife, who stood next him — that 
man who had made his sister so miserable and had 
driven her to her death — his very souT revolted. 

He felt as if he must cry out, drag Fortunat to his 
sister’s grave, and before all those people, before his 
beautiful, newly-made bride, call him a “murderer.” 

His body trembled; he leaned against the statue; a 
tear trickled down his cheek. 

Suddenly he heard some one laugh aloud. 

Before him stood Prefect Aldean. 

“You must be in love!” cried he. “Only a person 
in love could stand there so dejected and absent- 
minded! Do you hear? Zilibi is in love!” 

Merry shouts of laughter followed his words. 

All arose, and Zilibi found himself surrounded by 
the entire company. 

“What were you thinking of?” cried Herr Al- 
dean. 

“What is your sweetheart’s name?” 

Zilibi laughed bitterly. 

“Of what was I thinking?” said he. “I will tell 
you! I was thinking of Cain and Abel! I was asking 
myself why God did not destroy Cain upon the spot 
when he murdered Abel?” 

“Why does Cain concern you?” asked the priest. 

“He concerns me, yes, he concerns me; for since 


100 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


that time murderers have been roaming about unpun- 
ished! ” 

He uttered these words with an odd emphasis and 
looked into Fortunat's eyes. 

"You are a sad jester!" cried Herr Valsamaki; "at 
midnight no Christian should speak of murderers; 
play something for us! " 

"Yes, play for us!" cried Herr Fortunat. 

"Very well, I will play," said Zilibi, putting his 
fiddle under his chin; "do you want a Christian or a 
Jewish piece?" 

"A Christian and a Jewish — both together — Chris- 
tians and Jews should live together in peace and har- 
mony!" cried Father Constantin. 

"Very well, I will play a Christian-Jewish piece. If 
it be sad, I cannot help it. It is written in no book; 
you will not be able to find it. But the story is true, 
as true as that there is a God; ask Herr Fortunat, 
he will tell you that I am not lying. Listen!” 

Zilibi said these words calmly, but there was a deep 
melancholy in his voice. 

He began to play. 

It was a weird, sad piece, that the little Jew played. 

But suddenly he drew himself up, the bow began to 
fly over the strings, and wild tones came from the 
violin. 

It sounded like the cry of a miserable soul that 
despaired of God, of itself and of life. 

The company stood there spell-bound; all eyes 
rested upon the ghastly, pale face of Zilibi. Fortunat’ s 
face was clouded Every tone from Zilibi’s violin 


JONEL FORTUl^AT 


101 


awoke new pictures in his soul — pictures which at first 
were dim, but gradually grew clearer. 

He saw Rachel with her pale face, her blue-black 
hair, her deep, black eyes. 

Suddenly it seemed to him as if the statue, lit 
up by the rays of the moon, became animated — as if 
it inclined its head to the rhythm of the music, 
and as if a smile hovered about its lips. O, he knew 
that smile and that voice which whispered to him 
softly: “You wish to be happy, Fortunat, and have 
forfeited the right to be so. Down there lies a woman 
who once loved you, and you pressed the weapon 
into her hand wiih which she destroyed a young, 
bright life.” He put his hand to his eyes and has- 
tily wiped away two tears. 

Suddenly Zil ibi stopped. The picture vanished from 
before Fortunat’ s eyes; he heard applause. 

Zilibi bowed to the right and left, then laughed 
aloud, laid his head against the statue, and a hollow 
sound, like a suppressed sob, escaped him. Then he 
again turned to the guests. 

“When I play as I did to-day,” said he, “I think of 
an old story. Years ago a sister of mine died; she 
was as lovely as a May-day, and I loved her dearly.” 
He turned and saw Lea beside him. “Come, child,” 
said he, softly, “we will go home!” 


VII 


It was a sultry, September afternoon, ten years after 
the events narrated. Autumn had come, and the fir- 
trees, which bordered the street that led to Banesti, 
were a golden yellow. On both sides of this street, as 
far as eye could see, stretched blooming corn-fields. 
A light breeze was blowing and whispered amongst the 
corn, and the sunflowers bowed their golden heads as 
if in greeting. Upon the highway rumbled a droschke. 
The horses, covered with dust, trotted slowly with 
lowered heads. Old Alex, Herr Fortunat’s coachman, 
sat upon the box. He was sleepy and tipsy. Indeed 
the night before he had not closed his eyes, for he 
had been excited because he was the next day to meet 
Jonel, whom he had seen the last time ten years since, 
and whom he was to drive to Banesti. And when 
Jonel stood before him, no longer a boy but a hand- 
some young man of four and twenty, with sparkling 
black eyes, and a small black mustache — when the 
young man, delighted at seeing him once again, drew 
old Alex to him and pressed two resounding kisses 
upon his unshaven face — the old coachman felt very 
strange. He did not say a word, but looked with a 
broad, incredulous smile at the young man, as if he 
wished to say; "Is this Jonel? The dear, little fel- 

102 


JOl^EL FORTUnAT 


103 


low, whom I used to carry in my arms, and who has 
grown so handsome, so tall, and so fine! ” 

When Jonel ate a cold breakfast at the buffet, Alex 
gave vent to his delight in his own way. He drank 
two, three glasses of gin, and then began again, at 
the same time smiling agreeably at his young master. 
He had to answer a thousand questions which flowed 
from the young man’s lips. How his father was, 
whom he had not seen for six years, when Fortunat 
visited his son at Berlin, where Jonel had studied and 
obtained the diploma of a doctor juris; how his mother 
— or rather his step-mother — was, whom he had not 
seen for ten years; and if Florica, his sweet little 
sister, was well and happy. Alex only answered in 
monosyllables. Speech seemed hard for him, and at 
some questions he cracked his whip so loudly, that 
Jonel did not understand his answer. The drive lasted 
four hours. Alex sat upon the box tired out, nodding 
his head. Now and then he awoke as if from a dream; 
then the whip was flourished over the horses, and the 
carriage rolled along faster. 

Jonel smiled. His eyes turned from right to left, 
as if he wished to take in everything that he saw. He 
felt wonderfully happy. Ten years he had spent in 
a foreign land with the deep ineradicable love of home 
in his heart. At the beginning of his holidays he had 
always begged to be allowed to come home. But he 
always received a few short lines in which his father 
told him that he must suppress his homesickness; 
when he had finished his studies, then only could he 
return home? 


104 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Why did they keep him away from home? Why 
had his father, during the long years that he was 
abroad, only visited him once? Why did his step- 
mother never write to him? These questions often 
came into his mind, and once he had asked Florica 
about it, for they corresponded regularly. 

But Florica, who generally wrote so clearly and to 
the point, had answered those questions evasively; 
during the holidays papa and mamma generally trav- 
eled, or visited French bathing resorts, and it was 
best for Jonel to remain where he was. These ques- 
tions now occurred to him again, and a cloud of dis- 
pleasure settled upon his brow. But when, upon turn- 
ing a corner, the village of Banesti suddenly lay be- 
fore him — when he saw the castle, the home of his 
childhood, and the silvery, mirror-like pond, the birch 
forest, and next it the old cemetery with its gray tomb- 
stones, the church with its green tower and golden 
cross, and Father Constantin’s moss overgrown cot- 
tage — his eyes lighted up, and he had to exercise all 
his self-control to prevent himself from crying out in 
the fullness of his joy. 

“Alex,” cried he, “stop! I will get out here; I wish 
to walk, to the castle! Tell papa I shall be there 
soon! ” 

He sprang out of the droschke, and hastened to- 
ward the town. As he entered it, he stood still and 
looked about him. It seemed to him as if he had 
only left the day before — everything was unchanged. 

The small, low cottages with their warped, cracked 
roofs, were as weather-stained, as gray, as sooty, as 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


105 


they had always been; as formerly, there now stood 
thin, pale Jewish boys with long caftans and curly 
hair, with shabby velvet caps upon their heads, in 
front of the houses, snuffling and staring at him curi- 
ously with their large, dark eyes; as formerly, so 
were now all kinds of gay wares piled up in front of 
the Jewish places of business; there was the same 
dreamy silence, broken now and then by the grunting 
of pigs, that were wallowing in the mud, or by the 
quacking of geese and the gobbling of turkeys. 

Before the gayly-painted houses of the farmers lay, 
as formerly, lazy dogs basking in the sun; they did 
not even bark, for they had not recognized the thought- 
ful wanderer. Yes, all was unchanged; there was the 
same filth, the same idleness; there were the same 
Jewish faces and the same shy shrinking forms. 

Then the clear tones of the church bell broke the 
stillness. Jonel^s thoughts were interrupted and he 
hastened to the church-yard. As he entered a strange 
sadness seized him. The soft, clear tones of the bell 
had awakened a thousand sweet, golden memories of 
liis childhood; all the people whose images in the 
course of years had faded from his mind arose before 
him clearly and vividly and passed by him; he saw 
his old, good-natured tutor, Brunner, who had died 
years ago, and whose remains lay in that church- 
yard; he nodded to the old Falutza with her wide 
laughing mouth, who had always caressed him; he 
saw the Jewish peddler and jester, Zilibi Psantir, who 
had fiddled so wonderfully at his father’s wedding, 
and his little daughter Lea. 


106 


JOr^EL FORTUNAT 


As that name crossed his mind, the scene in the 
cemetery, when she struck him with a stone, was as 
clear to him as if it had happened the day before. 
He saw himself lying upon a divan in Father Con- 
stantin’s low room, and before him was the little Jew- 
ess, with hei blue-black hair, bright, black eyes, and 
full, red lips which had kissed his. 

In Jonel’s letters to and from Florica, Lea’s name 
often occurred. He knew that for several years she 
had been in an. institute at Bucharest at Herr Valsa- 
maki’s expense; he knew that for some time she had 
lived with Madame Falutza, who almost took the place 
of a mother; that Valsamaki was considered her be- 
trothed; and that she was to become a Christian in 
order to marry him. She must be a beautiful girl, for 
Florica was continually raving about her. Poor Flor- 
ica! she was still sickly and crippled. But she was 
resigned to her fate. 

Sometimes, however, he thought he could detect a 
deep undertone of sadness in her letters. How sor- 
rowful had the words sounded in her last letter, in 
which she expressed her delight at his approaching 
return. 

"I await you/* so she wrote, “with longing, my 
sweet little brother. I know you have grown tall and 
handsome, and enjoy society. Your poor, sick sister, 
who, day after day, year in, year out, lies in her chair, 
will not be able to afford you much entertainment. 
Still, you will enjoy yourself, for we have two fine 
girls here: Lea — your old enemy, who now enchants 
all men with one glance of her dark eyes — and Frau- 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


107 


lein Pia Dobrescu, a girl with golden hair and violet 
eyes. You will pay these ladies attention, and if they 
fall in love with you, we will have a good laugh at 
their expense. But you must not fall in love, my dear 
little brother; you wish to become a great man, a 
hero, and you must not trifle away your time with love 
affairs. 

“But I tire you with my silly chatter do I not? Do 
not be vexed with me, it is so dreary and unpleasant 
at home. Mamma is always angry; Papa has his 
business troubles — and they must be very serious. 
Ah, if you would only come soon! * * ^ ” 

Jonel folded the letter, kissed it, and put it in his 
pocket-book. His heart yearned strangely, and he felt 
an infinite pity for his poor sister. Then he noticed 
Father Constantin's figure standing at the door of his 
cottage. It was not the healthy, fresh and well-fed 
divine whom Jonel remembered, but a lean figure with 
pale, sunken cheeks, a gray beard and hollow eyes. 
Only the end of his nose shone as in years gone by. 

Jonel walked toward the cottage hastily; arrived 
there, he stopped and looked into the priest's face 
with a smile. Father Constantin looked at him care- 
fully for a second; suddenly his face brightened, and 
with the cry: “Jonel!” he clasped the young man in 
his arms. Then he released him, examined his slen- 
der form in surprise, and drew him into the room. 

“It is you — it is really you! ” cried he, very much 
excited. “Poor, blessed Brunner, how he would have 
rejoiced, and how pleased his lordship' will be! But 
first of all we must drink a glass of wine!” For some 


108 


JOr^EL FORT UN AT 


time he rushed about the room in the excess of his 
delight, overthrew a chair, knocked his head against 
the cupboard, brushed the dusty table with the sleeve 
of his gown, and then placed upon it a bottle of 
wire and two glasses. The priest filled them. 

“Long life to you my son!” cried he, clinking 
glasses with Jonel. He emptied his at one draught. 

“When did you arrive at Banesti?” 

“Just now; 1 sent Alex ahead with the carriage. I 
wanted to spend half an hour with old memo*-ies. 
How are you?” 

“Bad, very bad, my son, ” sighed the priest. “During 
the years that you have spent in study abroad, much 
has been changed here. Even I am not what I for- 
merly was.” 

“One grows older and graver,” smiled Jonel. 

“Ah, pah! age alone does not do it. It is trouble, 
care and hunger! yes, hunger!” 

“Hunger?” asked Jonel, seriously. 

“Yes, indeed,” sighed the priest, seating himself 
upon the divan; “when his lordship was unmarried,” 
continued he, “I drew from him regularly a monthly 
allowance of three ducats. If one adds to that what 
I earned and the proceeds yielded from my land, it 
amounts to quite a neat little sum. But your step- 
mother is — what shall I say — she is an ‘enlightened’ 
woman; she cares neither for God nor the devil, and 
least of all for a poor priest. In a word: for ten 
years I have not received from his lordship one red 
ban (centime), and lately I have not ventured near 
the castle on Sundays nor holidays.” 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


109 


*‘Why?’* asked Jcnel, whose face had grown dark. 

“Because I fear your step-mother; she has a very 
hasty temper and a quick hand. She can box ears; 
she treats the peasants of Banesti like dogs, and me 
no better; as truly as you see me, a few months ago, 
on Good* Friday — do you hear? on Good-Friday — she 
boxed my ears twice. I should have made light of it 
had not there been something else behind it. They 
have stopped my allowance; it hurts me; but I am 
silent, for no one can be forced to show kindness. 
But now they wish to take from me my five acres of 
land; your step-mother is trying to rob the farmers 
of Banesti of the estate of Oance. Do you hear?” 

“For God’s sake, how is that possible?” cried Jonel 
in his agitation. 

“Oh! much is possible, if one has the power in one’s 
hands! Sit down, Jonel, pay attention. I will relate 
to you how it all happened.” He seized his glass, 
drank from it, and began: “When your father mar 
ried, Banesti was unencumbered, and she — that is, your 
step-mother — brought him an estate as a dowry. On 
that much one can live very well, if one does not try 
to get the blue sky. But your step-mother wanted to 
go into the world; she lived in grand style several 
years at Bucharest, and threw money out of the win- 
dows. Four years after their marriage her estate was 
under the hammer. A year later Banesti was heavily 
mortgaged. Then came a Jew — named Grunspecht 
— to your father and persuaded him to build a factory. 
Your father strove against it; your step-mother, who 
like all women, has long hair and little sense, insisted 


110 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


upon it; and as his lordship does everything that she 
wishes, the factory was built. If you step to the win- 
dow you will see a red chimney rising in the air, behind 
the castle park. Through that chimney for several 
years clouds of smoke ascended toward the sky, and 
this smoke consumed the remainder of your father’s 
fortune and much borrowed money into the bargain. 
But your step-iiiother needed money — a heathenish 
amount of it — and she found a means of obtaining it. 
You remember the estate of Oance; it is a quarter 
of an hour from Banesti. It has belonged since time 
immemorial to us farmers of Banesti. We have it 
under hand and seal. Look! ” 

The priest arose, went toward the cupboard which 
stood near the door, and brought forth a tattered 
sheet of paper. He laid it upon the table. 

“That is,“ he began in a voice which sounded almost 
solemn, “the authenticated copy which states that 
Prince Stefan the Great — blessed be his memory — 
bequeathed to the farmers of Banesti the estate, Oance 
— forever. This estate we have possessed for centu- 
ries, and defended with our blood. 

“Your step-mother found in your family archives a 
piece of writing according to which the estate, 
Oance, should belong to the Fortunat famil)^ She 
began a lawsuit with us which is now in its third 
year; we have expended our last centime for lawyers, 
stamp duty and the devil knows what besides — so 
that we have been beggared. Your step-mother, in the 
first instance, won the suit; she had better lawyers 
than we had; the judges were on her side; prefect 


lOhlEL FORTUNAT 


111 


Aldean worked for her — in short, I fear we shall lose 
the suit in the second instance. But if that should 
indeed come to pass, then is there no justice upon 
earth, for we shall have been robbed and plundered in 
broad daylight by the court and your step-mother.” 

Father Constantin had spoken warmly, the veins 
upon his forehead were swollen, and with his last 
words he struck the table so violently with his clinched 
fist that the bottles and glasses clattered. 

“And now — listen, Jonel,” continued he more calmly, 
“you have studied law, you know what is right and 
what is wrong; you are a lawyer, so I have heard. Study 
our case, and if you find that we are fighting a just 
cause, go to your father and your step-mother, and 
say to them: ‘The farmers of Banesti are in the 
right; I shall not allow them to be plundered.’ 

‘‘Your father is a good soul; I feel convinced that he 
will give in if he hears his own flesh and blood speak 
thus. Promise me, Jonel, that you will do what I 
beg of you in the name of all the farmers.” 

Jonel sat perfectly still, his elbows upon the table, 
his head between his hands. But his face betrayed 
the agitation which the priest’s words occasioned 
him, for it was now pale, now suffused with a brill- 
iant color. 

Oh, now he understood why Florica’s letters were so 
sad: it was not only grief at her own misfortune, but 
also a deep sorrow at her domestic trouble — at the wants 
and worries that had crept into his father’s home! 
Want and need had induced his father to stretch out 
his hand toward the possessions of others. Fifty 
poor families were to be robbed of their inheritance 


112 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


in order that his step-mother might live as she had 
always done, in ease and affluence. It was unparal- 
leled. He sprang up. 

"What you have told me,” cried he, grasping the 
priest’s hand, "has moved me deeply. I swear to 
you that I will not suffer the farmers to be wronged. 
Believe me, all will yet come right. Farewell!” 

He hastened out. The strange feeling of joy which 
had possessed him at the sight of the home of his 
childhood, had vanished. His mood had changed, 
He had hoped to find friendly, if not happy, rela- 
tions, existing — and he faced a ruined household, 
which they were trying to save by artful, fraudulent 
and knavish means. 

The demon that had caused all the misery was 
that proud woman, the very sight of whom had filled 
the boy^s head with dread. He clinched his fists; he 
had never in his life hated anyone, but now he felt 
a rising in his heart, a deep, burning and bitter hatred 
of this miserable woman. He quickened his pace, and 
hastened, gazing moodily before him, to the castle. 


VIII 


The castle park of Banesti had, in the course of the 
past ten years, undergone a great change ; it was now 
well cared for, the walks were strewn with gravel, 
and in the flower beds flamed red pelargoniums, blue 
lobelias, and tea-roses, while here and there in white 
marble vases, fine tropical plants, mostly fan and 
dragon-palms refreshed the eye with their greenness. 

The chapel, once so gray and weather-beaten, had 
been renovated, and vines had been trained about its 
sides; the statue of the female before it was white 
and pure; in the basin filled with clear water swam 
snow-white swans, which spread out their wings as 
often as they came within range of the water spray 
which the puffy-cheeked Triton emitted from his 
black shell, and which fell in thousands of glittering 
drops. It made pleasant music, and it was delightful 
to dream there, especially toward evening, when the 
summits of the giant oaks, which kept watch about 
this place, were gilded by the beams of the setting sun 
and when in their tops the thrush warbled sweetly. 

Florica often came there in her chair, and with her 
curly, golden head thrown back, would lie there, gaz- 
ing at the blue heavens, and listening to the twitter- 
ing of the birds. But upon this special day she was not 
8 113 


114 ‘ 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


dreaming. She sat upright; her usually pale cheeks 
were tinged faintly with pink, and her dark-blue eyes 
rested admiringly upon the slender form of Jonel, 
who stood before her, and related to her — now in jest, 
now in earnest — all that had befallen him during the 
ten years of his absence. This was soon done, for he 
had little to add to that which he had written her in 
his letters; he had studied very diligently, had led 
a very retired life, and could scarcely await the 
moment when, having gone through his examina- 
tion he could return home to his dear, sweet, poor, 
little sister. 

But this "poor, little sister" had, in the meantime, 
grown into a tall, lovely girl. As Jonel said this, 
she blushed deeply. He, however, pertly took her 
head between his hands, stooped, kissed her delicate 
mouth with its pretty lips, and cried: ‘‘Yes, indeed, 
you are, Florica, a very lovely girl." 

Then he reminded her of the few weeks they had 
spent together in his father’s house at the residence; 
of how they had sworn eternal friendship. He re- 
minded her of that sad evening when his father broke 
the news to him that he was to leave Bucharest and 
go to Germany. They had both wept bitterly. At 
the remembrance of this, the tears even then came 
into his eyes, but he quickly suppressed his emotion, 
laughed aloud, and drew forth a sniall package of 
letters. 

‘‘These are your letters, Florica," cried he gayly, 
"your letters of last year, chronologically arranged. 
Tell me, am I not a faithful brother?" 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


115 


She pressed his hand with a smile. 

"Jonel, ” said she, “how strange! You have scarce^ 
ly been here two hours, yet it seems to me as if you 
had never been away — as if we had been together all 
the time. But how did you find papa and mamma? 
much changed?” 

Jonel grew grave. “Father must have suffered 
much the past few years,” replied he ; “he looks old 
and infirm. If I had not been ashamed for your 
mother, I should have sobbed like a child when I 
looked into his sad, sorrowful eyes. Your mother is 
still as handsome and blooming as she was ten years 
ago, and just as cold toward me as she was at that 
time. 

“My mother is kind — kind at heart,” cried she; 
“believe me, Jonel; but at times she is capricious 
and headstrong — then the deplorable condition of our 
finances worries her! ” 

“I have heard about our affairs from Father Con- 
stantin,” said he; “why did you never write me 
about them?” 

“What good would that have done? You could not 
have helped it, and I should only have made you mis- 
erable! But I saw it coming, Jonel — yes, 1 saw it 
coming. One day, four or five years ago, a Jew 
came to us, named Grunspecht, and proposed that 
father should build a factory; he told him wonder- 
ful stories of how much was to be gained by it. 
At that time we were in straitened circumstances. 
Papa began to build the factory, which cost a fabu- 
lous sum; then when it was completed there was no 


116 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


money; when it was started there was none; so papa 
was obliged to borrow, and cover Banesti with mort- 
gages. One fine morning the place was closed, and 
then a terrible time began. Only God knows how it 
may end yet! But I saw it coming. That Grun- 
specht had piercing, black eyes; and he smiled so 
amiably, so sweetly, only a heartless person could 
smile as he did. Now perhaps you comprehend why 
mamma is so whimsical; why she received you so 
coldly. She has always had everything that she de- 
sired, and now we are compelled to be very economic- 
al. Let us not say any more about it. Come, sit 
down by me,” added she with a smile, “and tell me 
if those beautiful dreams are still in your head — 
dreams of future greatness — of which you wrote so 
much in your letters/’ 

Jonel seated himself upon the edge of her chair, 
stroked a curl from the girl’s brow, and said; 

"You have probably often made sport of the 
dreamer?" 

"God forbid!” cried she. ”Oh! if you only knew 
how cold, insipid and prosaic the people are who 
visit us! If you only knew that, you would under- 
stand with what delight I read your letters! I feel 
convinced that you will become a great man, that peo- 
ple will praise you. Ah! if I were not ill, if I were 
a man — ” 

"Well, what then?” he interrupted. 

"I should not be like the others!” 

"Neither do I wish to be like the others! ” cried 
Jonel. "Florica, when, the day before yesterday, I set 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


117 


foot upon my native ground, I felt as if I must kneel 
down and kiss the earth, I who lived abroad 
ten years with the continual, burning longing for 
home in my heart — for home which contained all that 
was sacred and dear to me! — I know what love of 
one’s fatherland is! and we have a glorious land, a 
splendid people. Florica, a nation that has had such 
a famous past as ours — that has composed such beau- 
tiful songs — will never go to ruin; a great future is 
in store for us!” 

He sprang up, his cheeks were crimson. “To work 
for such a nation, to struggle, to die if need be, 
would be a glorious fate! Often when I think of my 
future, Florica, I picture myself as standing before a 
crowd of people and speaking to them the inspired 
words, flowing from my mouth, the crowd listening in 
amazement, and then overwhelming me with applause ; 
and I feel so happy, so inexpressibly happy ! Ah! it is 
a delightful, lovely dream!” 

Jonel was silent, his burning eyes gazed into space, 
and as he stood there in the fullness of his vigorous 
youth, his head with its dark hair lit up by a ray of 
the evening sun, about his lips a soft, ecstatic smile, 
he seemed to Florica the embodiment of her ideal 
man, which only lived in her dreams. But the bliss- 
ful sensation which filled her soul at this thought was 
put to flight suddenly by a violent dart of pain, as 
she was about to laugh aloud for pure delight; the 
laugh died upon her lips; her head sank back upon 
her pillows; she buried her face in her hands, and 
began to weep softly. Jonel was startled. 


118 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


“What ails you, Florica?” cried he. 

“Nothing, nothing,” murmured she; “I am quite 
well, but sometimes I weep without myself knowing 
why; it soon passes over. See, Jonel, I am laughing 
again!” 

She took her hands from her face and looked at him 
with a smile. 

“Here I find brother and sister engaged in a tender 
and delightful tete-a-tete!” suddenly said a silvery 
voice behind Jonel. He turned quickly. Before him 
stood a tall, slender lady in a gray traveling dress, 
upon her head a black hat with a waving plume. She 
looked at him a second, searchingly, with her large 
eyes, then turned to Florica, kissed her brow, and 
laid her small hand with its pearl-gray glove upon her 
lips. 

“Do not speak, Florica.” cried she, laughing; “we 
shall see if Herr Jonel recognizes me! Guess,” con- 
tinued she, turning to Jonel, “who do you think has 
the honor to stand before you?” 

Jonel involuntarily retreated a few steps and stared 
at the young lady. She was very striking indeed, 
slender, almost as tall as Jonel, and wonderfully well- 
proportioned. Upon her low brow nestled several 
blue-black curls, from her dark eyes, shaded by their 
long, silken lashes, flashed forth a dark fire; her 
nose, with its delicate nostrils, was finely formed, 
and from between her half-open, smiling lips, 
glistened two rows of pearly teeth; blooming 
youth and good health were visible in her form 
and upon her rosy cheeks; indeed no artist in his 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


119 


most inspired moment could have produced anything 
more beautiful or more enchanting. Jonel stood there 
as if bewitched, his eyes lowered. Then the girl 
laughed aloud; she approached him, and passing the 
forefinger of her right hand over his brow, cried: 

"The scar disappeared long ago and with it, so it 
seems to me, all remembrance of your former enemy!" 

"Leal" cried Jonel, and a blush overspread his 
face. 

"Yes, Lea, Zilibi Psantir^s daughter," said she. 
She offered him her hand. "And now welcome! We 
have all awaited you with the greatest anxiety. Why 
do you look so astonished?" 

"You have grown so beautiful!" said he with naive 
admiration. 

She seemed not to have heard those words, seated 
herself upon the chair next Florica, embraced her, 
and said: "I have just come with my fiance. I have a 
fiance, you must know," she added, turning to Jonel’ 
with a blush; "he is the lord of Valeni, HerrValsam- 
aki, my benefactor, who educated me, and to whom 
I owe what I am. I know people talk about it. Herr 
Valsamaki is no longer young, neither is he hand- 
some, and many cannot understand why I am going 
to marry him. But I am grateful — yes I am; it is 
nobody's business what I do, neither is it necessary 
for me to render anyone an account. I do as I 
pleasej " 

"Why, Lea, you will talk yourself into a rage; who 
has reproached you?" cried Florica. 

"Not you — certainly not you," came from Lea's 


120 


JOr^EL FORTUhlAT 


lips, “for you are as kind and good and gentle as an 
angel! But there are people who think otherwise, 
who cannot comprehend how a young girl — though I 
am no longer so young, for I am one-andt-wenty — can 
marry a man of sixty. And Pll wager, Herr Jonel, 
she added, “Pll wager that it seems strange to you! 
does it not?” 

“I have only been home two days, and scarcely three 
hours in my father’s house,” said Jonel, evasively, 
“and I must confess there are many things that I can- 
not comprehend, indeed many things that seem strange 
to me; but I think I shall become accustomed to 
this!” 

Lea thought a moment. The sarcasm in Jonel’ s 
words had not escaped her. Her lips twitched nerv- 
ously. 

“Yes, you will become accustomed to it,” she said 
softly. “Just think, Florica, I came to tell you that 
my fiance insists upon my baptism taking place to- 
morrow in the church at Banesti, and that our mar- 
riage be celebrated eight days after. Your father is 
to be my sponsor. Ah! I wish it were over! And 
we are to go to Vienna, Berlin and Paris — into the 
world, the lovely, gay world! Such a trip must be 
grand, delightful! Our old French governess at 
school raved about Paris. And I shall see Paris be- 
fore Fraulein Dobrescu!” 

“Prepare yourself for a surprise, Herr Jonel,” she 
prattled, “you will find Fraulein Pia Dobrescu, our 
neighbor, a rare beauty; fair and with blue eyes like 
a German girl, as proud and imperious as if she were 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


121 


directly descended from an illustrious line of princes. 
Fraulein Pia Dobrescu will receive the first invitation 
to my wedding. I can picture her turning up her 
little nose, pursing up her lips, and saying to her 
mother: ‘Only think! Lea is really going to marry 

Valsamakil’ Ah! here he comes!” she started up. 

Up the walk which led from the castle to the roun- 
del, slowly came the tall form of the lord of Valeni. 
He wore a faultless black suit, and a beaver hat. He 
bowed to the ladies, gallantly kissed the hand first 
of his bride and then Florica, and welcomed Jonel 
cordially. 

“They are awaiting us for dinner,” said he, offer- 
ing his betrothed his arm. 

“Allow me, Florica,” smiled Jonel, “to escort you 
to the castle! ” 

He stepped behind her chair and rolled it along. The 
betrothed couple walked ahead. Jonel examined closely 
the bony figure of Herr Valsamaki, upon whose long 
neck was perched his small head with its putty-col- 
ored, hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes; he saw’ those 
eyes cast a sidelong, passionate glance at his young, 
blooming companion, who walked gracefully and easily 
by his side. As they entered the court-yard from the 
park. Lea turned her head, and for a second they 
looked fixedly into each other’s eyes. 


IX 


The moon had burst through the heavy clouds and 
flooded the broad, silent plain and the lake bordered 
with rushes, in its silvery light; she sent her beams 
through the windows of the manor of Banesti, and 
into Jonel’s room, the windows of which looked upon 
the park. It was the same room on the first floor 
which he, as a boy, had occupied, and everything in 
it was just as he had left it years before. 

He saw the same golden-brown hangings, the same 
massive table with its carved feet, the same high bed, 
the same holy pictures, and against the wall opposite 
the door, the old, carved stand upon which lay several 
ragged school-books, and a number of school manu- 
scripts. Jone] was deeply moved when he saw the 
books, for each one was associated with sweet memories 
of his childhood, memories of his poor tutor, Brunner. 

It seemed to him as if he could see him before 
him, with his black coat reaching to his ankles, with 
his tall hat upon his venerable head, with his purple 
nose and pale-blue eyes — which nevertheless had a 
kindly expression. It seemed to him as if he could 
hear his deep voice say: 

“Yes, my dear boy, one should study, study, study 
dilligently. “ 


122 


JON El FORT UN AT 


128 


How the man had sobbed and wept when he pressed 
Jonel to his heart for the last time! And now he lay 
in the cemetery under a green mound! Jonel pressed 
the school-books to his breast as if they were dear 
corripanions of his youth whom he had not seen for 
years, and it occurred to him how kind Florica was, 
for she, so Alex had told him, saw to it that nothing 
in his room was ever disturbed. 

Poor Florica! That evening at dinner she had 
been so sad, although all the rest were merry, and 
Lea the merriest amongst them, with her laughter and 
jests. 

Much wine had been drunk; in honor of Jonel and 
of the betrothed couple, the best wine was brought 
forth from the cellar. Herr Fortunat had proposed 
his son’s health and then the happiness and welfare 
of the couple. Then they kissed one another. Jonel 
kissed Lea and his lips must have lingered somew^hat 
longer than was customary upon hers, for Herr Val- 
samaki drew her toward him rather roughly, pressed a 
resounding kiss upon her lips and his face was pale 
and his small eyes flashed. 

Jonel felt the hot blood rush to his cheeks at the re- 
membrance of that kiss; he shook his head, arose 
from the bed upon which he had seated himself, stepped 
to the window, opened it, and drew deep breaths of 
the cool, aromatic air. 

All was stilL Only the trees rustled The blissful 
sensation of being in his native land, in his father’s 
house, in the immediate neighborhood of the two beings 
who were so dear to him, of seeing before him the 


124 


JO^EL FORTUhlAT 


park in which he had played when a boy, where every 
tree, every flower greeted him as an old acquaintance, 
filled his breast. 

There was another sensation that he could not ex- 
plain to himself; a thrill of delight shot through him 
now and then. Was it the wine that had affected his 
brain, and made him so wonderfully happy? He had 
experienced that peculiar thrill once before that day 
— when Lea’s lips had touched his — and he said aloud 
and almost mechanically: “Lea!” 

Then the scene in the church-yard flew through his 
mind. He saw everything as clear as day from the 
moment when she rushed upon him with the stone in her 
hand, to the moment when she pressed a light kiss 
upon his lips in the priest’s room; and he remembered 
that at that time he had looked upon that kiss as a dis- 
grace. As he thought of it he laughed aloud. He 
could not remain quietly in his room; he went down 
into the park and walked to the roundel, where he lay 
upon the soft turf under the shadow of an oak, and 
looked heavenward, dreamily. 

The stillness was only broken by a monotonous 
sound which came from the Triton, which, flooded by 
the moonlight, shot a spray of water into the air, and 
the drops fell like diamonds into the basin, in which 
swam dead leaves. The Triton seemed to nod and 
smile, and about the lips of the lovely marble statue 
before the chapel hovered a smile. 

Suddenly Jonel started, he heard steps. By the 
side of the chapel appeared a little man — a Jew. 
Jonel recognized him; it was Zilibi Psantir. The 


JOr^EL FORT UN AT 


125 


Jew waited for a while at the principal alley which 
led from the castle to the roundel, and very soon a 
female figure wrapped in a dark cloak hastened down 
the walk. Zilibi Psantir met this figure at the fount- 
ain. 

“You do wrong, father,” said Lea’s voice, “in ask- 
ing me to meet you in the park at so late an hour. I 
wrote you that I should spend two days at the castle, 
and if you really have such important matters to dis- 
cuss why do you not come there? Do you think that 
I am ashamed of you?” 

“I do,” said Zilibi calmly. 

“You are mistaken, father,” cried she; “I swear by 
all that is sacred and dear to me — ” 

“What is sacred and dear to you?” he interrupted 
violently.^ “For that reason am I here so that I can 
find out if anything is sacred and dear to you. Tell 
me, Lea, what is?” 

For a second she was silent then she said: 

“I know what you refer to — my engagement to Val- 
samaki and to my change of religion. Let us not 
speak of it; my mind is made up!” 

Zilibi drew nearer his daughter ; he seized her hand. 

“Do not do it, my child!” cried he, “do not do it — if 
you love your father a little bit — if you do not wish 
to break his heart! ” 

She did not answer. 

“I know,” continued he, and his voice was very sad, 
“I know that it is my fault. I should have refused 
Valsamaki’s offer of bearing the expense of your edu- 
cation. I did not do so and now I am to receive my 


126 


JOf^EL FORTUN^T 


punishment. You have been estranged from me; 
they have surrounded you with all the luxuries that 
wealth can buy; you now shudder at the thought of 
poverty. What is your poor old father to you? A 
peddler, a fiddler, a jester who is glad to be allowed 
to live in peace! What can Zilibi Psantir offer you? 
A miserable bed and care and sorrow. But your 
Valsamaki is a Bojar and you will be the mistress of 
Valeni; that tempts you! Of what value are your 
father and the Jewish faith compared to that? You 
cast the latter aside like an old threadbare garment! 
And that you have given me my death-blow does not 
trouble you. Oh Lea, do not do it; do not do it!” 

Lea uttered a cry; she embraced her father, but he 
disengaged himself. 

“Do not embrace me,” cried he, “do not kiss me 
until you have given me your promise to follow my 
advice! ” 

Lea seemed to be irresolute. For a time she stood 
there thoughtfully, then she said firmly and decidedly: 
‘*It is too late; to-morrow my baptism takes place!” 

He drew back horrified, and looked at her with wide- 
open eyes, as if he could not understand the words 
she had spoken. Her father’s sorrow cut Lea to the 
heart, and yet she was vexed with him. Why did 
he cling to the Jewish faith? What had it done for 
him? He had had nothing but misery and want, and 
contemptuous treatment. 

What had she not suffered herself? How many 
bitter tears she had shed at the institute when the 
girls — now mockingly, now scornfully — called her a 


JOl^EL FORTUN^T 


127 


"Jewess!” Did she not always shrink like a thief 
when the Jews were mentioned in her presence? 

Who could throw a stone at her, if she tried to escape 
all the suffering and torture the Jewish faith had oc- 
casioned her, by baptism? And was not her conver- 
sion to Christianity highly necessary? Was it not 
the condition of her marriage with Herr Valsamaki? 
And this marriage could not anger her father surely. 
Should she — poor girl — return to him, to share with 
him the dry bread which was so hard to earn? — she, 
who was used to an easy life, to associating with 
wealthy and refined people? 

Why should she not marry Valsamaki? Why not? 
Many young men had paid her attention, had whis- 
pered words of love to her, but none had ever thought 
of proposing marriage to her, and no one could blame 
them." Who would marry a poor Jewess? Was it 
not noble of Valsamaki to make up his mind to do so? 
Was it not generous of him to have cared for her up 
to that time as a father? 

All this had flowed quickly from Lea's lips, but 
Zilibi scarcely heard her; while she spoke he shook 
his head, and when she ceased his only answer was a 
deep sigh. Lea was anxious and fearful. 

“Speak, father!” cried she. 

He started at this cry. 

“I see. Lea, why you do not understand me; I see 
why you cannot understand what it is to cling to 
one's people with all the fibers of one's soul. One 
must have a good heart, and that you have not, for if 
you were good you would comprehend why I am a, 


128 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


Jew, and remain one, although I am often treated like 
a dog. You do not know our history, my child; you 
do not know how we have been persecuted for centu- 
ries, and how our miserable fate has only served to 
unite us more closely. They have tried to extermi- 
nate us with sword and with fire ; thousands and thou- 
sands of tormentors^ hands have hacked at the tree of 
Judaism in order to uproot it, but it still stands 
there, tall and magnificent, and bears new blossoms. 
Is it not wonderful? And to such a race you can be 
faithless!’ 

He drew a deep breath and then said softly as if 
speaking to himself: 

“The wandering Jew — so runs the story — bears upon 
his forehead a red cross, which cannot be erased. So 
that people shall not see it, however, his brow is cov- 
ered with a black bandage. If one tears it away, the 
cross stares one in the face— so will it be with you. 
You wish to renounce Judaism and cover it with bap- 
tism, but it is written upon }^our brow, it sparkles in 
your eyes, it is a part of your being; people will be 
able to read it upon your brow and in your eyes, and 
they will say: 

“'Lea, Zilibi Psantir’s daughter, the Jewess, she 
has been baptized!’ 

“It will be talked of everywhere, and at heart you 
will be neither a Jewess nor a Gentile. Come with 
me; I have earned some money; we will go to town; 
I will go into business and make more, and you shall 
live like a princess. What do 3^ou say to that. Lea?” 

She did not answer, but stared gloomily before her. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


129 


“Say yes or no!” cried he. 

“No, then! ” escaped her lips; she turned to go. 

He caught Lea’s arm convulsively and detained her. 

“One word — only one word, Lea! Marry Valsamaki : 
I have nothing against it, be baptized if it must be, 
but for God’s sake, wait a while! Why must it be 
to-morrow? Wait a short while — one or two 
months. I am an old man; 1 shall soon die; when I 
am dead you can do as you like. You once loved me, 
when you were a child. Lea; you loved me dearly, and 
there was no happier father than the poor peddler, Zil- 
ibi Psantir, when he wandered from village to village, 
from town to town, and his little daughter trudged by 
his side in wind and rain, heat and dust. She was a 
dear, good child! Ah God, you have forgotten all 
that; it was many years ago — an eternity! But if you 
have not the same heart that you had then, you will 
at least have some pity for your old father.” 

He stopped and looked up at her. She did not ut- 
ter a syllable, but in her face, which was as fixed and 
white as that of a statue, he read his answer, and knew 
that his child was lost to him forever. He dropped 
her hand, turned and left her. Lea made a movement 
as if she wished to call him back, but she did not 
move from the spot; and when his steps had died 
away, she drew her cloak closely about her, and walked 
slowly toward the manor. 

Jonel had heard every word of this strange conver- 
sation, of which he had been an unwilling, an unno- 
ticed witness. Lea’s projected conversion to Chris- 
tianity had, until that moment, not entered his mind; 

9 


130 


JOf^EL FORTUNAT 


he had had no especial reason to think of it and to 
explain to himself why she was taking this step. But 
now, that Zilibi’s prayers rang in his ears — now when 
he pondered over her cool, calculating explanation — 
he brooded over it with a frowning brow. 

“Calculations, pure calculations!” murmured he, ar- 
riving at his room, and throwing himself upon the bed. 
He closed his eyes, but in the darkness Lea’s face 
loomed up in its wondrous beauty, flooded by the 
moonlight, as he had seen it in the park; and this 
image did not vanish. It smiled at him sweetly, se- 
ductively, [and her eyes, those lovely eyes which 
burned with a passionate fire, hovered above him like 
twin stars, and fallowed him in his dreams. 


X 


Naftali, the red-haired proprietor of the only tavern 
in Banesti, was never very merry; his head always 
drooped languidl)’ to one side, his small eyes looked 
into the world sadly, and even his smile did no^ lend 
his beardless, bird-like face a happier expression, for 
it was so mournful. He had really no cause for sad- 
ness, for his business was flourishing; indeed it had 
been more than flourishing since the farmers of Ba- 
nesti had begun the lawsuit with the lord of the manor. 
If the mayor of the town, Herr Dumitree Velic, 
brought good news of the proceedings, they would 
allow themselves several glasses wherewith to slake 
their thirst; if his news was doubtful, it would also 
be de rigeur for the poor people to drink, for their all 
was at stake; and they tried to drown their troubles 
in wine. 

Since the suit had begun all at Banesti drank ener- 
getically, deeply and. incessantly. Naftali, who was a 
shrewd, calculating person, said to himself: 

“Why should I let folks know how contented I am, 
and arouse their jealousy? And then, am I sure of 
my tavern? If the Bo jar Madame takes a notion to- 
morrow, she will have me driven out of Banesti. 
Then I could beg for my ten children.” 

131 


132 


iOhlEL FORT UN AT 


However, upon this particular day Naftali^s bird- 
like face looked more woe-begone than ever. That 
day Lea’s baptism had taken place at the church of 
Banesti, and it was looked upon as a disgrace by the 
Jews of the town. 

This solemn ceremony, which was only witnessed 
by Herr Valsamaki’s most intimate friends, had been 
conducted by Father Constantin, who received a napo- 
leon from the lord of Valeni. The latter circum- 
stance had induced the priest to repair to the tavern 
sooner than was his custom, for it was only two 
o’clock in the afternoon when he entered, and it was 
the daily habit of the curer of souls to visit the inn 
regularly for an hour toward evening. But his de- 
light in his gold-pie^ce, which he held in his pocket 
between his finger and thumb, for he feared it might 
escape from him, was embittered by the unhappy in- 
telligence which the mayor, Herr Dumitree Velic, 
had brought from town. 

The farmers of Banesti had the day before lost 
their suit against Herr Foftunat, in the second in- 
stance, and there only remained the appeal to the court 
of cassation, a legal remedy, which was as slow as it 
was expensive, and which offered very little hope of a 
successful issue. 

Father Constantin owned six acres of the estate, 
Oance, which he now looked upon as lost. This 
thou^t pained him, and his nose gave outward signs 
of his feelings. He sat there silently and gloomily, 
and drank with anger in his heart. 

The two other guests who sat next him at the same 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


183 


table were also silent. That Dragosch — a man of 
about thirty, of herculean build, with an expressive, 
pale face, framed by long wavy black hair with two 
dark eyes overshadowed by heavy brows — that Joncu 
Dragosch — only opened his mouth when he raised a 
glass of wine to his lips, did not surprise Naftali. 
Dragosch indeed rarely spoke much, therefore what 
he said was always to the point. But that the mayor 
of Banesti, Herr Velic, a small, thin man of forty 
with a bulbous nose, upon the extreme end of which 
was a wart, maintained silence, seemed to strike the 
tavern-keeper as strange; for Velic who had been in- 
trusted with the details of the suit, and whom the 
farmers had given the right to conduct the same, was 
usually a very talkative person; but to-day he had 
good grounds for not putting himself forward, and 
for not allowing his light to shine. 

Two weeks before he had declared that he was con- 
vinced that the suit was as good as won, and had* 
made the farmers think so too. That day even his dig- 
nity as mayor had not saved him a box upon the ears 
which he received from an old farmer as he told him 
the news early in the morning upon his return from 
town. Now he feared that he would receive the same 
punishment from Dragosch, if he brought forward 
the unfortunate affair, for Dragosch was a violent 
man, and as fifteen acres of the estate belonged to him 
it could easily be imagined how the decision of the 
court of appeal would affect him. But when, with the 
fourth bottle, the fumes of the red Odobest wine be- 
gan to rise to his brain, he could bear the unnatural 


134 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


silence no longer; he sprang up, rushed up and down 
the floor several times, then stopped before the priest 
and said: “Well, what does your holiness say to 
it?” 

His holiness said nothing, but struck the table so vio- 
lently with his clinched fist that the glasses jingled. 
Dragosch’s dream was interrupted. 

“Velic, ” said he, “it seems to me that you have 
deceived us — that you have lied to us. It is impossi- 
ble that we can have lost the suit.” 

Velic retreated several steps, so as to be out of reach 
of Dragosch’s arm in case he should want to use it, 
and cried excitedly: 

“Why do you think I have lied, Dragosch? Of what 
interest would it be to me to lie? Give me your rea- 
sons for considering me a liar!” 

“Because I cannot believe that the judges are rob- 
bers who wish to plunder poor Christians! ” 

The mayor laughed aloud. 

“We shall have to believe it, when the decision is 
officially delivered to us; you will then have it in 
black and white. I shall read it aloud to you, and 
you will hear wonderful things; how it is proved to 
us to a hair-breadth that the estate, Oance, does 
not belong to us, and never has. If you have any 
spare pennies, Dragosch, keep them together, for we 
shall have to pay the costs too. Yes indeed! And if 
we fail to do so, they will take even the ashes from 
our hearths. How many acres have you, Dragosch? 
Fifteen, I believe. Cross it off. How many acres 
have you. Father Constantin? Six? Cross it off.” 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


135 


“The court of cassation must help us to regain our 
rights!” cried the priest. 

“And if not,” asked Velic, “what then?” 

Dragosch sprang up; his pale face was crimson, 
his eyes sparkled. 

“I will tell you,” cried he, “if anyone wished to 
tear the shirt that I wear from my body, I should 
strike him down, were he the prefect himself. And 
my land belongs to me as much as my shirt — do you 
understand me? I shall say this to everyone, and I 
should like to see the man who will contradict me! ” 

He breathed heavily, threw himself upon a wooden 
bench and ordered a fresh bottle of wine. 

“You are very hot-tempered, Dragosch,” said Velic; 
“if we were to follow you, we should all get into 
trouble. . We will ask some shrewd, cool-headed per- 
sonas advice. Here comes Zilibi Psantir, we will 
hear what he has to say.” 

Zilibi, who approached the tavern slowly and with 
downcast eyes, exercised a certain authority over the 
farmers of Banesti, and they never failed to turn to 
him for advice upon weighty matters. But upon this 
particular day he did not look as if he were able to 
give any advice. He crept into the tavern, asked 
Naftali for a small glass of gin, which he emptied at 
one draught, and sank silently upon a bench. Velic 
quickly told him the unhappy result of the suit. 

“Well, what do you think, Zilibi? what is to be 
done? ” 

Zilibi did not answer immediately; he had a second 
glass of gin poured out, placed It with a trembling 


136 


JONtL FORTUNAT 


hand upon the table; wiped the drops of perspiration 
from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, and 
said: 

“At any rate, you are happy; you can drink, get 
tipsy and forget all your troubles. Unfortunately, I 
cannot. Do you remember, Father Constantin, how 
intoxicated you were the day of your wife’s funeral — 
how you danced and sang? I shall imitate you; I am 
going to try to learn how to drink!” 

He hastily seized a glass of gin and emptied it. 
The other three men looked at one another express- 
ively. 

“See here, Zilibi,” said the priest, placing his right 
arm affectionately about the Jew’s shoulders, “I know 
what is w^orrying you; your daughter’s baptism! Do 
not be a fool. What is the use of grieving about it; 
you are usually such a sensible man!” 

Zilibi laughed. 

‘What is the use of grieving? Next week my daugh- 
ter will become the wife of the wealthiest lord for 
ten miles around. That is what you would say, is it 
i^ot? You are right; I will be merry. Naftali, some 
bottles of wine; I will treat! And now, Velic, I will 
answer your question. You must mkke an appeal; 
that goes without saying, but who knows if it will 
be of any use? One thing would surely benefit you, 
and that is, if you could obtain Jonel’s assistance. 
According to Father Constantin, Jonel sympathizes 
with the poor ; perhaps he can protect you from 
harm. ” 

“A happy thought!” cried the priest. “Jonel knows 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


137 


about the affair; he will help us. Your health, 
Zilibi!” 

The glasses were filled, and all clinked with Zilibi. 
The priest began a die-away, erotic song, and when, 
soon after, the musician, Gregory, with his orchestra 
entered the inn, the noise became general*. Dragosch 
demanded a hora. 

In a short space of time the inn was filled with so 
many guests, that Naftali’s feet, like those of the 
Moor, Hassan, had as much as they could do to en- 
able him to fill all the orders for wine and gin. They 
drank, sang, and made merry, and the merriest of 
all was Father Constantin, who suddenly mounted a 
chair, his high hat touching the ceiling, and broke 
into a hurra for the noble young heir of Banesti, in 
which the farmers joined, and which Gregory accom- 
panied with a “fanfare.” 

Father Constantin wished to make a speech besides, 
but he felt a sudden weakness in his limbs ; he broke 
down, and embraced Dragosch. In the meantime 
Zilibi stood alone in a corner of the musty tavern, a 
glass of wine in his hand, murmuring to himself: 

“Let us assume that Lea is dead. She died to-day. 
I will have prayers for the dead said in the syna- 
gogue to-day and to-morrow — in fact, fora whole year. 
She was a good child, my dear Lea. Now she is 
dead!” 

As he sai(k this, two large tears trickled down his 
sunken cheeks and fell into the glass of wine, which 
he held to his mouth in his trembling hand, without 
drinking it. 


XI 


An almost dwarfish, humpbacked form, with thin, 
crooked legs, a short neck, upon which sat a round, 
large head, with a full, s moo th-shaven face, a short, flat 
nose, a wide mouth and projecting chin, such was Law- 
yer Pantasi Tschukee, whom Madame Fortunat had 
employed to conduct her case. 

Nature seemed to have taken a special delight in 
creating this master-work of repulsive ugliness, with its 
white brow and magnificent, deep-black eyes, which 
sparkled with intelligence and vivacity. Pantasi 
Tschukee was numbered amongst the best lawyers of 
the residence; he was a fine orator and very much 
feared on account of his sarcasm. The ladies liked 
him, though he treated them with a man-of -the-world 
assurance; he would have been made much of by them 
had not contempt for the whole female sex been visi- 
ble in his speech, in the inflection of his voice, in his 
smile and in the twinkle of his black eyes. 

Pantasi Tschukee liked ladies’ society, but he was 
not very particular as to the grade. Every woman 
who was young, beautiful and blooming captivated 
him, were she enthroned upon the sunny heights of 
society, or in the midst of the tobacco smoke in a 
variety music hall. Indeed Herr Tschukee had had 

138 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


139 


a small love-affair not so long ago, which afforded 
society the means of gossip for several months. One 
day he surprised his friends with the announcement 
that he was going to marry. This news was received 
everywhere with an incredulous smile; but the sur- 
prise of all was so much greater when Tschuhee, after 
a short absence from the residence, returned with a 
young, charming brunette, whom he introduced to his 
intimate friends as his wife. 

No one knew where this lady came trom, but rna- 
licious folks declared that Tschukee had brought her 
from a circus troupe. As long as his married life 
flowed smoothly he did not appear in society. But this 
only lasted a few weeks. One fine day the news- 
paper announced that Herr Tschukee’ s wife had flown, 
and that at the same time numerous valuable papers 
belonging to her husband had disappeared too. Upon 
the day that this notice appeared, Tschukee started, as 
they said, to track the fugitive dove. When he re- 
turned after several weeks, he certainly looked some- 
what pale, but otherwise there was no visible altera- 
tion in his appearance. He then explained his love 
adventure thus: It had* only been a passing liaison 
which had never really touched his heart; he only 
wished to prove that in spite of his hump he could 
conquer the heart of a woman. That his inamorata 
had left him was unfortunately a fact, but at the same 
time a not unusual “malheur, ” which had come to 
many noble and well-built men. His hair should not 
turn gray on that account, he would bear his misfort- 
une — if, indeed, it were such, to be rid of a woman — 
with silent resignation. “La donna e mobile.” 


140 


JOh^EL FORT UN AT 


The story of Tschukee’s tragically-comic love-affair 
also reached the ears of Madame Falutza, who in the 
past few years had grown somewhat infirm and hard of 
hearing, and seldom left her estate, for she disliked 
the fatigue of the three hours drive upon that uneven 
main road. O, that main road! The old lady wished 
it at the antipodes, where, according to her opinion. 
Prefect Aldean and the entire city council also be- 
longed, for they attended to everything under the sun, 
but the repairing of the road which led from her 
manor to the capital. Madame Falutza depended 
for the news of the day, entirely upon Lea, who, 
since leaving the institute, had lived with Madame 
Falutza, an old friend of Herr Valsamaki’s, as com- 
panion. The news of Tschukee’s romance, therefore, 
which she obtained, was far from being satisfac- 
tory. 

Madame Falutza burned with, curiosity, and was de- 
sirous of hearing something authenticated, therefore 
she was more than happy when one day the deformed 
lawyer surprised her with a visit. Herr Tschukee 
was on his way to Banesti to confer with Herr and 
Madame Fortunat as to further action in their suit, 
and he had determined to take advantage of the oppor- 
tunity as he was passing to call upon Madame Falutza. 
He wanted to see Lea, with whom he had become 
acquainted in the Fortunat family, and whose extraor- 
dinary beauty had made a deep impression upon his 
susceptible heart. He had heard only the day before 
of her conversion to Christianity, and of her impending 
marriage with Herr Valsamaki, and as this seemed 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


141 


almost impossible to him, he wished to find out more 
about it. 

Herr Tschukee was welcomed very cordially; he 
gallantly kissed first the old lady’s hand, then Lea’s, 
and expressed his regret that Madame Falutza and 
Fraulein Lea so rarely came to the capital whither 
he was called almost every month by his avocation. 

“I am old and feeble,” sighed Madame Falutza, 
“and cannot stand the drive upon that miserable main 
road. Yes, I feel that I am aging very rapidly. 
And I shall realize it more fully when my dear Lea 
leaves me. Of course you know that Fraulein Lea 
is to wed Herr Valsamaki next week. A propos, if I 
have been informed aright, you have married too and 
— you bad, bad man — did not think it worth your while 
to send an old friend a notice of your marriage! ” 

Madame Falutza attained her object in this way, not 
without a certain malice, for she spoke of the affair 
as if she were not cognizant of its termination. 
Tschukee saw through this malice but was not in the 
least disconcerted. He calmly gave her all details and 
between times sipped the Turkish coffee which Lea 
had handed him. When he had finished his story he 
fixed his sparkling black eyes upon the girl who was 
seated upon the sofa next the old lady and said in an 
undertone: 

“In you to-day, my lovely fraulein, I greet one of 
my faith; and you are indeed to marry next week? 
Herr Valsamaki is the happy man? At first I could 
not believe it! Still he is a man in his prime and a 
very wealthy man; that he loves you I do not doubt 


142 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


any more than I doubt the existence of the sunbeam 
that now kisses your velvety cheek. My heartiest 
congratulations! ” 

The words escaped the lawyer’s lips so quickly, 
and they were uttered in such a tone of evident bon- 
hommie, that the old lady did not perceive their 
slight irony. But Lea did; a deep blush suffused her 
cheeks, and a sharp retort was upon her tongue. But 
the lawyer did not give her time to speak. 

"Unfortunately I have neither the pleasure nor the 
honor," he continued in the same manner, "of know- 
ing your fiance very well; but when such a lovely 
girl as you gives her heart and her hand and* her re- 
ligion in the bargain, he must be a very meritorious 
and irresistible man; yet they can say that we live in 
a prosaic age! I say, romance has not died out; 
and to him who maintains to the contrary, I shall up- 
hold you, my lovely fraulein, and your honorable 
fiance, as living illustrations of the romance of our 
present day, and that man will be struck dumb. 
Once again my heartiest congratulations! Now, ladies, 
I must take my leave; they are awaiting me anxiously 
at Banesti. Farewell, ladies! You, my dear fraulein, 
will not, I hope, forget to invite me to the wedding. 
I pray you not to, for it is a long time since I had 
the pleasure of seeing a happy couple; so grant me 
that pleasure. Adieu! " 

Herr Tschukee kissed Madame Falutza’s hand, then 
he seized Lea’s small white one, lightly brushed the 
finger-tips, looked in her face a second with his burn- 
ing, black eyes, and hastily left the saloon. Immedi- 


^ONEL FORTUNAT 143 

ately afterward was heard the cracking of a whip 
and the rattling of a droschke in which the deformed 
lawyer reclined, in his wide mouth a cigarette in an 
amber mouth-piece, which he now and then took in 
his hand in order to puff blue clouds of smoke into 
the air. 

Two hours later Herr Tschukee was at the manor of 
Banesti, where he was always a welcome guest. This 
time he was even more welcome, for Herr and Madame 
Fortunat felt as if they owed him especial thanks on 
account of the successful issue of their suit against the 
farmers of Banesti. When his droschke entered the 
court-yard, Herr Fortunat himself hastened down the 
steps, helped him to alight, and conducted him to 
the ante-room, where he quickly divested himself of 
his wraps. Soon after, he entered the saloon, where 
Madame Fortunat greeted him cordially. Then he 
was introduced to Jonel. The lawyer examined the 
young man closely, then held out his hand, and said 
with a complaisant smile: 

“I am pleased, my’dear young friend and colleague, 
to make your acquaintance; I am very much pleased, 
and I pray you to believe that what I say is no mere 
form of speech; I know you from your letters which 
Fraulein Floric^ occasionally allowed me to read. 
And I, hardened sinner and coarse-grained material- 
ist, am always glad to come across a young, idealistic 
nature, for such an one is a rarity in the country. 
But I see, madame, ” he turned to Madame Fortunat, 
“that you are anxious to hear further details about 
the suit. You know my epicurean principle: I only 


144 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


speak of business matters when I have refreshed my 
body by food and drink; it is now six, and, if I am 
not mistaken, your dinner-hour.” 

During dinner, at which Florica, who was not well, 
did not appear, little was said. The lawyer as usual 
had an enormous appetite, while Herr Fortunat com- 
plained of his crops and the sad state of his finances. 

After dinner they returned to the saloon, where 
coffee was served. Herr Tschukee settled himself 
comfortably in a fauteuil, lit a cigar, and informed 
them that he was now ready to answer all questions. 

“Until now,” began Herr Fortunat, “you have only 
told us shortly that we have won the case. I am con- 
vinced that you pleaded brilliantly, and had a hard 
fight with your opponent. So much the more credit 
is due you, my dear Tschukee. It would please me 
very much if Jonel could spend his first apprentice- 
ship under your guidance.” 

“It would afford me infinite delight,” said Tschu- 
kee, “to take your son under my wing; but the lion's 
share of the success of your suit is owing to your 
lovely and amiable wife's efforts!” 

“Well, yes,” said Madame Fortunat smiling, “I 
have done my share. ” 

“I do not know what I am to understand by that,” 
said Jonel. 

"The matter is very simple,” laughed Herr Tschu- 
kee; “your mother solicited prefect Aldean' s powerful 
support. Herr Aldean thereupon gave the president 
and his assessors the wink; when the suit came on, 
and I saw the president's fat face assume its severe. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


145 


official dignity, then I knew what time of the da}’ it 
was, and did not therefore exert myself to plead very 
earnestly. Honor to him to whom honor is due, 
madame. If I win in the court of cassation, which of 
course I hope to do, then only will I accept your 
thanks, for I shall have merited them.” 

After Herr Tschukee uttered these words, he emp- 
tied his cup of coffee, and looked into Madame For- 
tunat’s eyes with a knowing smile. Then Jonel arose 
and approached the humpback. The young man’s face 
was very red and his eyes sparkled. He stood several 
seconds thoughtfully, as if seeking for suitable words. 
Suddenly he threw back his head and said quickly: 

“Do you think, Herr Tschukee, that you would 
have won that suit without my mother’s co-opera- 
tion?” 

“That I can notsay positively ; perhaps yes, per- 
haps no ; but to be candid, our chances were not very 
favorable.” 

“Do you think, Herr Tschukee, that our side was 
right? ” 

“That is a question about which a lawyer need not 
trouble. Besides, right and wrong are relative terms. ” 

“Relative terms?” repeated Jonel, bitterly; “but 
the sorrow of the fifty families from whom their in- 
heritance has been taken, thanks to the ‘powerful sup- 
port’ of the worthy prefect, is no relative term! or 
perhaps it is?” 

The lawyer did not reply ; he rested his chin upon 
his right hand, and looked up at the young man with 
his black eyes, which sparkled with irony. Herr and 

lO 


146 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Madame Fortunat had listened to this dialogue silent- 
ly. Now the latter sprang up and approached Jonel. 
And as she stood before him with head well-erect, her 
pale face lighted up by the lamp, her dark, blue eyes 
flashing, she was still a handsome, imposing woman 
in spite of her forty years — in spite of the two deep 
furrows at the corners of her mouth. 

“Jonel," said she, and her voice sounded harsh and 
stern, “I have noticed that you have no sympathy 
with — no feeling for — us in our wretched position; 
you know very well that our future depends upon the 
success of this suit, and instead of rejoicing that we 
have won — “ 

“But, dear Adele,” Herr Fortunat interrupted, “why 
do you excite yourself? Jonel means no harm, surely!” 

She turned to her husband, who was sitting upon 
the sofa, laughed shortly, and said: 

“He means no harm, poor fellow! What meant 
those cries of ‘bravo!’ which a few da3^s ago were 
uttered by the tipsy farmers at Naftali’s tavern? It 
seems to me, Jonel, that you feel called upon to side 
with the farmers against your own father; that would 
indeed be fine! ” 

Jonel was deathly pale; he passed his hand over his 
brow, then said in a voice trembling with emotion: 

“You reproach me unjustly, mother; I feel my 
father^ s sad condition deeply — as deeply as you; but 
I do not believe that the right way has been taken to 
free him from it.” 

“And what way, according to your opinion, would be 
the right one?” raged Madame Fortunat. “Shall we 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


147 


wait until Banesti is sold at auction? And when that 
misfortune has come to us, shall we wait patiently 
until you have become an experienced lawyer, and are 
in a position to support your family? Would that be 
the right way?” 

“Perhaps,” replied Jonel. 

“You are a child, dear Jonel,” cried Madame For- 
tunat, and a mocking smile played about her lips, 
“you are a child, I shall not use a harder term, and I 
shall ask your father to impress upon you, that chil- 
dren must not interfere in important matters!” 

Jonel shrank back, a hasty retort was upon his 
tongue, but meeting a beseeching glance from his fath- 
er he restrained his indignation, and turned and left 
the saloon. For awhile silence reigned. 

“I regret, Herr Tschukee, ” it was Herr Fortunat who 
spoke, “that you witnessed this family scene ; but you 
are an intimate friend, and I can therefore speak free- 
ly to you. I must confess that JonePs views do not 
please me; I have already had some conversation with 
him regarding this unhappy suit; I believe that he im- 
bibed socialistic ideas in Germany. I have laid all 
the points of the case before him, but he thinks that 
in a question of right between a lord and his subjects, 
right should always be upon the side of the latter. 
Do you tell him differently, dear Herr Tschukee; and 
you, my dear Adele, I beg to overlook his youthful 
indiscretion, if he has offended you by a rude word.” 

Madame Fortunat said nothing, but a nervous quiv- 
er about the corners of her mouth betrayed that the 
painful scene had excited her. 


148 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“Permit me, Herr Fortunat, “ said Tschukee, as he 
arose, “to seek out Jonel; I should like to talk with 
him, and I hope that my explanations will succeed 
in changing his view of this case. And you, lovel}^ 
lady,” added he turning to Madame Fortunat, seizing 
her white hand, and raising it to his lips, “I pray not 
to be angry with our young hot^head. Jonel is a Ger 
man visionary, and such natures have all kinds of 
strange ideas; Jonel, however — of that you may be 
certain — will soon pull in his horns.” 

“I hope so,” said Madame Fortunat. 

“You are our guest for to-day, “said Herr Fortunat; 
“I shall not allow you to return to town. Now I will 
conduct you to Jonel’ s room, and I earnestly pray 
that your efforts with my son may be crowned with 
success. “ 

Tschukee kissed Madame Fortunat’s hand, asked her 
to express his regret to Fraulein Florica at not hav- 
ing seen her, and left the room, accompanied by Herr 
Fortunat. 


XII 


Jonel was sitting at his escritoire upon which two 
candles in silver candelabra burned; he had his el- 
bows upon the table, and with his head resting upon 
his hands, was looking at a book, which lay open be- 
fore him. The lawyer had entered the room through 
the half-open door softly, and stopped there. His 
brilliant eyes rested with eager attention upon the 
pale, almost effeminately beautiful face of the young 
man, upon his high, noble forehead, through which 
the delicate blue veins shimmered. 

“Beneath that brow no impure thoughts, no degrad-* 
ing passions have held their sway,” thought the hump- 
back, and a strange feeling of sympathy possessed 
him for the handsome young man, whom he had only 
that day learnt to know. He drew a step nearer, 
Jonel raised his eyes — they were almond-shaped and 
black, with a peculiarly tender expression, which he 
then noticed for the first time. Suddenly it dawned 
upon the lawyer that those eyes were familiar to him, 
that he had seen them before, but he could not re- 
member when and where. Jonel rose. 

“Keep your seat, dear Jonel, and allow me to seat 
myself too, in order to chat a while with you. In 
what kind of a book were you so deeply interested?” 

He took the book in his hand. “Ah, poems, Alex- 
149 


150 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


andri’s Folk-Songs! " continued he, with a smile. 
“You prefer poetry to dry jurisprudence, then?” 

“I gladly fly to the dream world of tne poets,” said 
Jonel: 

“You fly to the dream world of the poets? That 
seems singular to me, my young friend. To you, who 
are so young and handsome, life should daily be an 
ever-renewing poem. Have you had such sad experi- 
ences that it is necessary for you to flee from reality 
into the poetical dream world?" 

“To be candid, no! ” rejoined Jonel. “When I lived 
abroad I led a peaceful, I might almost say, vegeta- 
tive life; and therefore since my return I find the 
plain, unvarnished reality so much more painful and 
harder to bear.” 

“And you look upon me as a living figure in the 
landscape of this miserable reality — as a pettifogger, 
who, according to your opinion, is defending an un- 
just cause. Is it not so?” 

“I think that you, as well as my father, are acting 
in good faith.” 

“And what if your supposition were incorrect?” 

Jonel was silent, struck by the cynicism of the ques- 
tion. 

“Let us understand one another,” began the lawyer 
briskly. “Undoubtedly at one time Oance belonged to 
your family. In what way the farmers gained posses- 
sion of it, is not clear to me. Your grandfather, al- 
most thirty years ago, disputed their right to it, but 
the suit was discontinued. Now we have revived the 
matter and have brought to light some weighty evi- 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


151 


dence in our favor; that is the state of affairs, and I 
do not understand why your sense of justice has been 
so stirred up?’' 

“I have, ’’said Jonel gravely, “carefully studied the 
law books and have firmly convinced myself that we 
are in the wrong; and that you are trying to gain the 
suit under these circumstances, vexes me. Have you 
then no sense of justice, Herr Tschukee?’’ 

“Ah, pah,” laughed the lawyer, “that is German 
nonsense! When you have lived with us awhile and 
have become better acquainted with us, your scruples 
will soon vanish; and now mark another thing: a 
lawyer must never ask whether his client is right or 
wrong, but rather if the suit can be won, and by what 
means. That is the first axiom in the catechism cf 
a lawyer, and that catechism I must teach you! ’* 

“Never!” exclaimed Jonel. 

“Steady, steady, my young friend! And now an- 
other word: do you know that your father, when he 
can call Oance his, will be in a position to pay all his 
debts, and will yet have enough left to enable him 
to live comfortably and free from care? Do you know 
that?” 

“1 know it,” said Jonel. 

“Do you know also that if the appeal of our oppo- 
nents were to terminate favorably for them — if we 
were to lose the suit by this new action — that your 
family would be ruined? Do you know that?” 

“I know it, Herr Tschukee.” 

“Then, indeed, there is not much for me to tell 
you,” smiled the lawyer, as he threw his head back 


152 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


in his chair, and whirled blue rings of smoke toward 
the young man standing before him. Upon looking 
in Jonel’s eyes, it suddenly occurred to him where he 
had seen those black eyes before. 

1 am pleased to have made the acquaintance of such 
an honorable, young person," began Tschukee, and 
an ironical smile played about his wide mouth. "It 
pleases me so much the more, for to-day I had the 
pleasure of meeting a girl, who I wish had a part of 
your honor. Do you know Lea, Zilibi Psantir's 
daughter?" 

At this unexpected question JonePs face grew crim- 
son. "I do not know," said he in his confusion, "how 
you come to speak of Lea. Of course I know her 
very well; she is an intimate friend of Florica’s." 

"This Lea," continued the lawyer, "has, strange to 
say, the same eyes as 5 ^ou; and if the eyes, as they say, 
are the mirrors of the mind, then Lea should have the 
same mind as you; but that does not seem to be the 
case. This Lea is, as you know, a recent convert to 
Christianity and is about to marry an old sickly, ugly 
man who will scarcely live through his honeymoon. 
You probably are of the opinion that marriage is the 
union of two congenial souls, deeply infatuated. You 
no doubt believe that one should only marry for love; 
you probably think that religion is sacred and should 
not be tampered with. Perhaps you are right, just as 
much in the right as when you affirm that we' are rob- 
bing the farmers of Banesti. But in spite of her 
lovely eyes, which bespeak a lovely mind. Lea is prac- 
tical; perhaps she is right, perhaps she is more in the 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


153 


right than you, my dear visionary! Lea will shortly 
be a wealthy, young, handsome, sought-after widow, 
and she will then certainly find some handsome young 
man whom she will marry, whom she will present with 
half a dozen children, and with whom she will be 
happy. Do you think that Lea could attain all this if 
she were troubled with such scruples as Herr Jonel 
Fortunat is? Another word, Jonel: Life is given us 
so that we may enjoy it; that I say to 3 ^ou — 1, the 
humpback — and he who mars his enjoyment by the 
metaphysical fads of the German professors, is a fool. 
For example: if you were to come to the residence you 
would, to begin with, at the highest earn three hun- 
dred francs a month; and if you clung to your philo- 
sophical principles, you would go to ruin, though 3 ^ou 
were ever so talented. But if you ^^ ere to come as the 
son of the wealthy lord of Oance, then all would 
meet you with open arms; your future would be as- 
sured, and in a short time you would be a wealthy 
man. Of course, you must know how to treat the 
women, and as you are a well built, fine fellow, they 
will fall at your feet. Can your philosophy stand its 
ground against the women — those lovely, laughing, 
loving women — the women?” 

The lawyer repeated this word with a demoniacal de- 
light, then he burst into a loud fit of laughter, which 
shook his whole frame. He sprang up, grasped Jonel's 
hand firmly and said: 

‘T have read you a short lecture to-day; I shall con- 
tinue it some other time, and hope that we may learn 
to understand one another. Good night! ” 


154 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Jonel, after the humpback left him, walked up and 
down his room thoughtfully; the words he had just 
heard were still in his mind, and agitated him 
strangely. 

“What kind of people are those,” he asked him- 
self, “who think so lightly of right and wrong — to 
whom everything is worthless, ard nothing sacred?” 

A feeling of aversion to those people possessed him, 
but at the same time a bitter pain arose in his hea'rt 
when he remembered that his father did not have that 
fine sense of right and justice — perhaps even did not 
understand it as he himself did. His filial duty muti- 
nied at the thought of accusing his father, and he 
tried to excuse him. His father — so he told himself 
— had been driven to that suit by the unsettled state 
of his finances, and by that miserable woman who ruled 
him. He was not bad, indeed he was not; and if the 
matter were to be explained clearly to him, he would 
in all probabilty not consent to deprive the poor peo- 
ple of their possessions.. 

Jonel felt comforted by this thought, and he breathed 
with as much relief as if an invisible hand had re- 
moved some guilt from his own soul. 

“Poor man!” murmured he. 

He stepped to the open window through which he 
could hear the rustling of the trees. There the}^ stood, 
flooded by the silvery light of the moon, the spread- 
ing, mighty oaks, and towering proudly above them 
the slender poplars — good, old friends! they were just 
as they had been ten years before, and they whispered 
in Jonel’s ear mysterious things — sweet stories from 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


155 


the golden age of his childhood. Do you remember, 
Jonel, how happy you once were when you toddled 
about this park, when your father still loved and 
guarded you as the apple of his eye; do you remem- 
ber how youthful he himself became, and how he 
caught butterflies with you for wagers; how he came 
to your bedside every evening, kissed your eyes and 
told you stories and fairy tales until sleep closed your 
lids? And do you remember that magnificent, moon- 
light night when you stood upon the balcony, and near 
you upon her chair lay Florica, with Lea at her feet, 
while in the brilliantly-lighted saloon, whence the 
merry strains of a hora issued, at the head of a gayly 
ornamented table sat your father, grave and pale, and 
next him the lovely woman with the dark blue eyes, 
a glance from which chilled your innermost being? 
At that time we whispered to you what would be, and 
your childish mind then dimly anticipated what has 
now come to pass: The stranger rules your father, 
body and soul; she has made of him a poor man; she 
has — what is still worse — deliberately rooted his love 
for his own child out of his heart. And now you are 
at your father’s castle, solitary and uncared for, and 
those eyes that once beamed with a deep love for you, 
are now veiled by sorrow, through which there seldom 
shines anything that reminds one of the good old days. 

Jonel sighed softly, he turned hastily, and as he did 
so, looked into a m.irror which hung upon the wall op- 
posite him He started. From the mirror his pale 
reflection looked at him, and the black eyes mirrored 
there seemed to him like Lea’s. Was it really so. 


156 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


or was it only a trick of his fancy which had been 
excited by the humpback’s conversation? And as he 
meditated, the lawyer’s last words began to ring in 
his ears: “Women, lovely, laughing, loving women! ” 

He repeated these words softly to himself, and his 
cheeks grew crimson. The humpback had undoubt- 
edly also thought of Lea. She was a woman to his 
taste, who understood the world as well as Pantasi 
Tschukee, who chaffered with love and with her relig- 
ion in the same way as her father did with old clothes 
— and she had married the highest bidder. Still she 
was a lovely and lovable woman, created to be happy 
and to make others so! She had such a sweet mouth, 
and that mouth would be kissed by a sickly, ugly old 
man; she would s :ffer it, she would return his caresses. 

He made a hasty, passionate gesture with his hand, 
and shook his head involuntarily as if he wished to 
dissipate the thoughts that hovered about him. But 
he did not succeed;, he sat down and took a book, but 
while his eyes glanced at the pages, his ears rang with 
the lawyer’s words: “Women, lovely, laughing, 

loving women.” 

He closed the book, and his eyes fell upon a glass 
standing before him in which were three white roses. 
This was a tender attention on the part of Florica, 
who picked some roses every morning in the small 
conservatory, and sent them daily as a sweet greeting, 
by old Alex.’ He took up a flower, and its perfume 
wafted to him something of the pure, chaste being of 
the poor girl. He sprang up; it was almost nine 
o’clock; he had quite forgotten to seek out Florica, 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


157 


with whom he was in the habit of spending several 
hours every evening. 

When Jonel entered Florica’s room, with its deli- 
cate, blue carpet, he found her lying on a velvet di- 
van; at her feet upon a tabouret sat her maid, Fi- 
nette, a pretty, bright Frenchwoman, with sensible 
brown eyes, who was reading aloud to her mistress 
from a French newspaper. At Jonel’s entrance the 
girl sprang up, glanced at him ‘roguishly, and left the 
room, for she knew that the brother and sister liked 
to be alone. 

Jonel kissed Florica’s small white hand, with its 
slender fingers, then sank upon the tabouret and looked 
with concern at Florica’s pale face, over which at his 
kiss a hectic blush spread. She coughed slightly. 
Jonel had often noticed that cough; it had troubled 
him too; now, when he saw her slender form in its 
white dress, which reminded him of a shroud, when 
he saw that unnatural brilliance in her blue eyes, an 
inexplicable fear possessed him; he pressed her hand 
tenderly. 

“Why do you look at me so strangely, Jonel?” asked 
she. 

“I was just thinking that you must be dreadfully 
bored here; we have so little company, you have no 
diversion, and I am not just now a very agreeable 
companion. How would you like to go to town for a 
few weeks?” 

“O! no, Jonel,” cried she, “I do not care to; I feel 
quite contented here; the quiet does me good. Mam- 
ma, who was just here, said the same to me ; she 


158 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


would like to take me to Nice. This climate, she 
thinks, does not agree with me; but nothing will help 
me, Jonel, nothing!” 

Jonel feared to ask her for an explanation of her 
last words, but she continued in her gentle, child-like 
voice: 

“You must make up your mind, my dear little 
brother, that some fine morning I shall be dead, and 
that time is in all probability not very far off!” 

“You little simpleton,” cried he, “why do you talk 
such nonsense!” 

“Never mind, Jonel; I know what I am saying.” 
Then raising herself, and resting her fair, curly head 
upon her hand, she said in a low, trembling voice: 

“Life is beautiful, Jonel, oh, yes; but only for 
healthy, happy people. I, you know, have never 
been quite well. As far back as I can remember, I 
was always confined to my bed more or less, always 
ill and in pain. I am not bad, but when I see others, 
as for example Lea, in perfect health and full of life, 
I rebel against my fate and occasionally feel envious! 
What can life bring me? I shall lie hereupon a sick- 
bed and look out upon the park, and shall see the 
trees bud and then fade; thus one year will pass and 
then another — and I shall grow old and cross, and 
lose my cheerfulness, which as yet presents many 
things to me in ^ rosy light. Ah! that is a dreary 
prospect, is it not? And when I know that life has 
nothing to offer me of that about which I sometimes 
dream — for which I sometimes long; when I know 
that the happiness which falls to the lot of others, 


JOr^EL FORT UN AT 


159 


flees from me, and grins at me like a hideous specter ; 
when I know all this, I ask myself: What is life to 
me? Why should I grieve because death threatens 
me? It is all the same to me if I die a little sooner 
or later!” 

She said all this gently, without any bitterness, 
with a melancholy resignation, and when she finished, 
she looked with a smile at Jonel, who sat there deeply 
affected ; he, who had never until now thought of 
death, could not ‘make up his mind that that being,* 
who was so dear to him, so good and noble, would 
soon be taken from him; and she spoke of it so 
calmly! Still in her composure there was a tinge of 
melancholy. Jonel perceived it, and sought for some 
words of consolation, but could find none that might 
awaken in those lovely eyes a shimmer of hope; as 
she smiled at him, he knew that his eyes grew moist ; 
he hastily drew his hand across his brow, bent over 
her and clasped her passionately in his arms. Her 
face grew rosy red, she pressed her lips upon his, 
then pushed him away; she lay a second exhausted, 
her breathing was labored, then she again sat up and 
said: 

‘‘I have something to tell you; mamma told me 
to-day of that unhappy suit, and complained that you 
were causing her a great deal of trouble, because you 
maintained that we were not right; and when I told 
her that I was of your opinion too, she became more 
excited than I have ever seen her; she said I 
was ungrateful, for she was only doing it so that I 
might have a happy and easy life, and that you were 


IGO 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


ungrateful too, for you cared so little for your par- 
ents’ happiness. But I took your part. I do not re- 
member just the words I used, but they must have 
touched my mother, for she did not answer, and when 
she left me I saw tears in here 3 ^es. It pained me deep- 
ly, but I could not help it. Perhaps 1 am wrong, but 
I would trust in you rather than in my mother. And 
now I beg of you, avoid all quarrels with her; she is 
wretched enough; promise me, Jonel!” 

He remained silent and gazed gloomily before him. 
Florica saw that her words hurt him, quickly changed 
the subject and began to tell him of the preparations 
for Lea’s marriage. 

“And if you wish to convince yourself how happy 
my friend is,” added she, “read the letter she sent 
me to-day.” 

He seized the tiny sheet of pink paper which she 
handed him, unfolded it, and looked closely at the 
pointed, uneven, hastily-written characters. 

“Read it, Jonel! ” persisted she. 

He read in an under-tone: 

“My Dear Florica: The humpbacked lawyer, Pantasi 
Tschukee, has just left me; he is going to your house. 
He is a disgusting person; he has put me out of 
humor — and I was so happy to-day, too. My wedding- 
dress is finished; I have tried it on. Madame Falutza 
was beside herself with joy; she said I looked splen- 
did. I know it is not right to praise oneself, but it 
seems to me that the good old lady was right. How 
my heart beat when I saw myself in the mirror in my 
dress, I cannot tell you. Indeed I am very nervous 


JON El. FORT UN AT 


161 


and excited; I am continually thinking: ‘In eight 
days you will be Madame Valsamaki, the wife of the 
wealthiest lord in the district, and will have everything 
that you have ever wished for,’ and I do not know 
whether to laugh or cry! This I tell you in confidence; 
now that my object is about to be attained, strange 
to say, I do not feel as happy as I once did when I 
pictured to myself that I was to be wealthy, independ- 
ent, and the wife of a lord. The future often seems 
dark, mysterious, perplexing to me, and then, my poor 
father — it pains me deeply that he cannot rejoice at 
my good fortune, and that thought embitters many an 
hour. * * * 

"My marriage is to take place in the church at 
Valeni. My fiance has changed his old manor into a 
fairy palace, so he says; they have been working on 
it the whol^^ summer, but I was not allowed to go 
there; my fiance wished to prepare a surprise for me. 
My boudoir, especially, is to be charming. The invi- 
tations to my wedding will be sent out to-day; you I 
shall invite personally. I have made Herr Valsamaki 
promise to call upon the Dobrescus to-morrow, and to 
make sure of their attendance at our marriage. I am 
particularly rejoiced to think that Fraulein Pia Dob- 
rescu will have an opportunity of seeing me as the wife 
of Herr Valsamaki. You know how I suffered at 
school from the insolence of that litTe lady. Now 
she shall see the Jewess, the daughter of the Jewish 
peddler, as a joyful bride admired by all! Only wait, 
I shall repay her for all the scorn and contempt 
which she heaped upon me. 


162 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“You have always reproved me, my sweet Florica, 
for bearing the noble Fraulein Pia Dobrescu malice; 
but you — you are an angel, Florica, while I love those 
who love me — and those who injure me, I hate with 
all my might. Such am I! — And now, how are you? 
Are you well and happy? If I can spare a few min- 
utes to-day, I will fly to Banesti, to embrace you. 
My regards to your parents and Herr Jonel; tell your 
brother it is unkind of him never to visit Madame 
Falutza, who always made so much of him. Madame 
is very much vexed, and if he wishes her to feel kindly 
'toward him again, he must come to see her soon. 
Farewell.” 

Jonel folded the letter and handed it silently to 
Florica. 

“Shall you call upon Madame Falutza?” asked she. 

“No!” replied he shortly. 

“Why?” 

“Because Lea might take a notion to show me her 
wedding-dress,” said he, bitterly. 

“It seems,” smiled she, “that you have not con- 
quered the dislike which as a boy you felt for Lea, and 
^et she is no longer a Jewess, as she was then?” 

“Perhaps she is,” said he quickly. He arose, kissed 
Florica’ s brow, and left the room. Arrived at his 
room, he found his father there. 

“To-morrow forenoon,” said Herr Fortunat, “a cer- 
tain Grunspecht, a Jew with whom I have business 
relations, will call upon me. I have important mat- 
ters to talk over with this man, and wish you to hear 
our conversation. I wish it for this reason; because 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


163 


you may perhaps judge my conduct regarding the suit 
different!}", if you obtain a better knowledge of my 
affairs. There are hard times in store for me,” added 
he, with a sigh. “Good night, Jonel!” He held out 
his hand, Jonel grasped it, he saw tears in his father’s 
eyes, and as they looked- at one another the barrier 
which had until then existed between father and son 
was broken. Overcome by emotion, Jonel embraced 
his father. Herr Fortunat disengaged himself gently 
from his embrace and said softly: 

“You must have a little pity on me. And if you 
love me, meet your step-mother in a more friendly 
spirit. She is not to blame for cur ruin — indeed she 
is not; I am the guilty one, I alone! Good night! ” 


XIII 


Five and twenty years ago Herr Moses Grunspecht, 
who at the present time is one of the wealthiest bank- 
ers of Jassy, was called plain “Moischele, ” and was a 
little money-changer, who had his small table standing 
in the "Herrengasse” of Jassy, opposite the palatial 
Bojar castle. Upon his table lay small assorted 
heaps of copper and silver coins, and in a glass box 
were several gold pieces. Moischele was at that 
time twenty years of age, and a thin fellow with long 
red curls; about him fluttered a well-worn caftan 
reaching to his ankles; he was to be seen from twelve 
to fifteen hours standing at his table, where he would 
dextrously slip the large, Turkish silver coin — the 
irmilik — -which at that time was still circulated in 
Roumania, through his fingers in order to test it by 
its ring. Often when he had been busy there seemed 
to him a peculiar charm in that ring, and while the 
coins passed through his fingers, his small gray eyes 
would rest longingly upon the Bojar castle, which lay 
before him so white, so proud, ‘So magnificent; and 
at such times he would see the copper and silver upon 
his table, as in a fairy tale, transformed into pure gold, 
which would hatch and grow and swell into large 
sums — into veritable mountains of gold; and the poor 
Moischele would then become a wealthy man, before 

164 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


165 


whom all money-changers would bow in humility — 
whom even the Bojars would greet politely, pleasantly 
even the Bojar over there in the white, proud, 
magnificent castle — and as Moischele saw this in his 
mind so plainly, the silver coins flew through his 
fingers in wild haste, and he seemed to hear tones of 
a trumpet, which grew louder and louder, until it be- 
came almost a “fanfare” of victory, for there upon the 
balcony of the white castle stood not the old Bojar, 
but the new owner with proudly swelling breast, who 
looked down into the street with beaming eyes upon 
the poor money-changers, who stood upon the hot 
pavement, clinking the coins, and looking up at the 
man upon the balcony who had also been a money- 
changer once. 

If at that time anyone had told Moischele that his 
dreams would be fulfilled, he would have laughed in 
his face; and yet everything that he had dreamt of had 
come to pass; for at the present time Moischele is 
one of the wealthiest men in Jassy. He lives in the 
fine castle, is strong and well-fed, wears a full, well- 
trained beard, and he might call half a dozen estates 
his, were there not a clause in the constitution 
which made it impossible for an unnaturalized Jew 
to own landed property. Moischele had not made 
his wealth by a turn of his hand ; he did not have the 
name in Jassy of having a “minister's head” for 
nothing; that “minister's head” had planned day afid 
night, and his long, pointed nose had been poked 
wherever there was business to be transacted, and his 
long, thin legs had done good service. 


166 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


He first began upon insignificant, needy officials; 
then he advanced to young, dissipated sons of lords. 
After he had made a considerable sum on interest 
and compound interest in this way, he began to buy 
up over-due notes and to study the rules of bankruptcy. 
His, wealth increased from day to day, and he was no 
longer known as Moischele, but as Herr Moses Grun^ 
specht. 

And Herr Moses Grunspecht no longer wore his long 
caftan as when he jingled silver coins, but a “German” 
coat and a high hat; his red curls grew shorter, and 
when they had entirely disappeared, Moischele had 
become a civilized European, who spoke some French 
and was a wealthy banker with whom the Bojars asso- 
ciated on terms of intimacy. The money-changers from 
whose humble guild he had risen to power and wealth 
maintained that Moses Grunspecht was worth five 
hundred thousand ducats. That was an enormous 
sum of money. The possessor of such a fortune might 
surely have taken a rest; but Herr Moses Grunspecht 
was just as busy, as restless and as anxious for gain 
as when he was plain Moischele. 

“One can never have enough money,” he always 
said, “especially if one has four daughters to marry 
off, as I have, it is no joke.” 

His long nose was always scenting business, and he 
seldom made a mistake. Herr Moses Grunspecht had 
a first mortgage to the amount of three hundred thou- 
sand francs upon Banesti, and beside, he held Herr 
Fortunat’s note for one hundred thousand francs. 
These notes proceeded from the unfortunate factory 


JOhJEL FORTUNAT 


167 


speculation. Herr Grunspecht gave the lord of Banes- 
ti the advice to build, and calculated this way: 

“If the factory prospers, I shall get the interest on 
my mortgage; if it fails, the manor and the factory 
will be sold, and as I hold all the factory papers it will 
remain in my hands, and we shall see if I can not make 
something out of it. As far as my mortgage is con- 
cerned I will see to it that it hangs over the estate if 
a new owner should come to it, for one cannot find 
such a safe investment every day, and one that pays 
fifteen per cent. And, please God, I shall perhaps be- 
come naturalized, and the estate will be mine, and I 
shall have upon my cards: ‘Moses Grunspecht, 
banker, manufacturer and lord of Banesti.'” 

This sweet music of the future was resounding in 
Herr Moses Grunspecht^ s ears at the moment when 
he ascended the carpeted stairs of the manor of Banes- 
ti, and a reflex of these pleasant thoughts lay upon his 
round face, as after having greeted Herr Fortunat and 
Jonel, he sank into a comfortable easy-chair. 

It was Herr Moses Grunspecht’ s habit never to 
enter at once upon the subject uppermost in his 
mind; he first inquired after the health of Madame 
Fortunat and Fraulein Florica, asked about the con- 
dition of the crops, expressed the hope that Jonel, 
whose acquaintance he was especially delighted to 
make, would soon begin his career as a lawyer, and 
finally congratulated Herr Fortunat upon the success- 
ful issue of his suit with the farmers of Banesti. After 
having said all this softly, kindly and with a sweet 
smile, he paused, drew from his coat-pocket a silver 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


168 


tobacco pouch, made himself a cigarette, and as he 
struck a match, said, sotto voce: 

“Now we must to business, you know.” He leaned 
back in his chair and began: “When I, Herr Fortunat, 
four years ago, lent you three hundred thousand francs, 
for which I received a first mortgage upon Banesti, I 
accommodated you did I not?” 

“1 acknowledge that," said Herr Fortunat. 

“For two years,” continued Herr Moses Grun- 
specht, “for two years and three months you have paid 
me no interest; any other person in my place would 
have sued you long ago, and have desired the public 
sale of the estate; I have not done so ; I have shown 
you, therefore, that I have some feeling and sympa- 
thize with you; is it not so?” 

Herr Fortunat did not answer, but gazed moodily 
before him. The banker continued calmly: 

“As you* know, I bought up all your notes, 
which was another favor, you know, for had I not 
done so some one else would have done it, and you 
would long ago have been declared bankrupt; but now 
I must look out for my own interests. I am the 
father of a family, and as such must provide for my 
children, you know.” 

“You are quite right,” said Herr Fortunat. 

“I am pleased that you agree with me; and if you 
consider the case, you will see that it is nothing very 
extraordinary, if after waiting so long a time I feel 
compelled to ask you if you can honor these notes?” 

“No,” gasped Herr Fortunat. 

“Then I must, to my sorrow, inform you that lean 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


169 


wait no longer; I have several new business ventures 
which require a large amount of capital; I can wait 
no longer — but I will not press you too hard ; I will 
give you a month or two, or perhaps even three, but 
that is all, you know.” 

“And if I cannot pay you then?” asked Herr 
Fortunat, whose face was deathly pale. 

“I will not think of such a thing.” 

“You must, Herr Grunspecht, you must prepare 
yourself for it.” 

Herr Grunspecht smiled. 

“Then I shall be forced to give the matter into the 
hands of my lawyer, you know. It would grieve me 
very much if matters should come to such a pass^ 
but I am the father of a family, you know.” 

Herr Moses Grunspecht arose and took his leave, 
with a smile upon his lips. When the door had 
closed behind him there was a painful silence. 
Herr Fortunat walked up and down the room several 
times, breathing heavily, then he stopped before 
Jonel and said in a trembling voice: 

“If in three months’ time, I cannot pay the Jew 
that sum, I shall be declared insolvent. I know 
that smooth hypocrite; he will keep his word! And 
do you know, Jonel, what it means to lose one’s hon- 
orable name, to be driven from the estate, from the 
manor which has belonged to one’s family since time 
immemorial. ” In his excitement he struck his forehead 
with his hand. “And now I hope you conceive, Jonel, 
why I must win the suit against the farmers of 
Banesti at any price!” 


XIV 


It was a sultry September evening; the heavens 
were overcast. Now and then a gust of wind carried 
a heap of dead leaves with it, and cast them in the 
faces of the peasants, who were standing before the 
house, looking in at the brilliantly-lighted windows of 
the manor of Valeni, and talking of the great event, 
the marriage of Herr Valsamaki with the converted 
Jewess, which had taken place that afternoon at five 
o’clock, in the village church of Valeni. The windows 
of the saloon, the glass doors of which opened onto 
the balcony, were open. In the doors,- half hidden 
behind the heavy damask portiere, stood the old gypsy 
Paraskiza, Valsamaki’ s old housekeeper, looking in- 
to the hall which was brilliantly illuminated. The well- 
dressed gentlemen, who promenaded up and down the 
polished floor laughing and chatting, the ladies, sitting 
upon the velvet-chairs against the tapestried walls, 
the ladies in their rich attire, with their wonderful 
coiffures, their diamond brooches, their gold bracelets, 
their glittering ear-rings, and their beautiful fans — 
all these passed before the old gypsy’s eyes; but Lea 
in her white, satin dress, a myrtle wreath upon her 
head, and pendant from the wreath, a flood of golden 
threads, worn in accordance with an ancient custom, 

170 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


in 


which fell over her shoulders, seemed to her like a 
fairy vision. Paraskiza could scarcely believe that the 
pale, delicate, little Jewess whom she had seen for the 
first time ten years before with her father, the ped- 
dler Zilibi, had grown to be such a beautiful, proud 
woman. She looked at Lea, then at Valsamaki who 
was standing next her, looking more feeble than ever, 
and all sorts of thoughts flew through her head. The 
old fortune-teller. Baba Cloantza, had said to her that 
day: 

“Such a young, blooming woman and such a scare- 
crow as Valsamaki, will not make a happy pair; take 
my word for it, their marriage will not end happily!” 

Baba Cloantza was right; marriage was only for 
young, happy people. He who would marry, should 
choose a wife in good season; he should not wait un 
til his head was bald, until his cheeks were hollow; 
and as long as Valsamaki had not entered the holy 
state of matrimony thirty years ago, he might just 
as well have let it alone at his age. Could he not 
spend the few years yet remaining to him in peace? 
Had she not tended him and cared for him as a mother 
would her child? Had he not been happy in the little 
old house? 

Wherefore all this splendor, all this extravagance — 
this fine house, this saloon with its mirrors — why had 
he bound himself to a converted Jewess? Had he 
listened to her advice, this would not have happened; 
but here was a pretty fix! he had been bewitched by 
the Jewess; and her name was not Paraskiza if he 
would not yet regret his folly bitterly. 


172 


JON EL FORTUNA7 


As Paraskiza half-thought, half-murmured this to 
herself, the strains of a hora resounded from the 
anteroom where the musician Gregory with his orches- 
tra was stationed; but no one thought of dancing; the 
guests had just risen from the table; the French cook, 
who had been sent for by Herr Valsamaki from town, 
and who was intrusted with the preparation of the 
wedding-feast, had surpassed himself. The menu was 
excellent, the wine faultless, and the champagne beg- 
gared description. The excellent menu, the wine and 
the champagne had put the guests in high good-humor, 
and they saw many things in a different light. They 
now thought that Valsamaki was a true gentleman; 
they praised the tasteful arrangement of his villa; 
they admired Lea’s beauty — the ease and unconstraint 
of her manner — and what had astonished all before, 
namely that Valsamaki had made up his mind to mar- 
ry a poor, converted Jewess, was now quite plain to 
everyone. 

The guests consisted principally of the families of 
neighboring land-owners, amongst them Herr Fortunat 
with his wife and his son, Jonel. There were also 
present several people of rank from the capital, which 
was three miles distant ; Prefect Aldean had held his 
post for ten years, during which time he had grown 
quite corpulent. He was a tall, well-built man of 
forty, wore a thick, gold watch-chain, gold eyeglasses 
upon his nose, and looked smilingly, affably, and self- 
consciously upon the world. Herr Aldean did not at- 
tain the object which he once so ardently longed for, 
of marrying a girl from some ancient Bojar family, but 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


173 


like a sensible, practical person, he lowered his stand- 
ard, and married the daughter of a wealthy Greek, 
who brought him a dowry of twenty thousand ducats. 
With the prefect came another high dignitary from the 
district capital of D— ; indeed he was important both 
in the physical and moral sense of the word; he was 
the justice of the court of appeal, Gorsovei, and he 
was explaining gravely and fully to the prefect’ s wife, 
a small, plump woman with velvety, merry eyes, that 
he could dine twice in succession with a good appetite, 
a statement which seemed to amuse Madame Aldean 
very much. 

But Herr Valsamaki felt more honored and flattered 
that the owner of Bogdenesti, Herr Dobrescu, with 
his wife and daughter, had accepted his invitation; 
for, firstly, he knew that it would afford Lea great 
pleasure, and then Herr Dobrescu, who years before 
had been a minister, was a person who could not fail 
to impress a parvenu. 

Herr Dobrescu was a small man of fifty, who did 
not look as old; his imperial, his twisted mustachios, 
his eyebrows and his hair were coal-black, and his face 
rosy;' but on close inspection one could see that the 
jetty-blackness of his hair was artificial, and that his 
rosy complexion came from a palette. 

His wife, Madame Aglae Dobrescu, was a small, thin 
lady, very decollete, with quicksilver-like movements, 
curled hair, a beauty-spot upon her painted face, and 
a gaudy red dress which contrasted oddly with the 
simple but elegant ball-dress of her daughter Pia, a 
girl nineteen years of age, fair-haired, magnificently 


174 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


built, with a finely-cut face and wonderful, dark blue 
eyes. She gazed before her silently, gravely, almost 
sadly, and a melancholy expression played about her 
aristocratic mouth. 

Herr Tschukee was also amongst the wedding-guests; 
the humpbacked lawyer was in high spirits, probably 
because his seat at the table had been next the fat 
justice, who had repeatedly filled the lawyer’s glass. 
Yes, the lawyer was very merry, and his eyes roved 
from one lady to another, as he harangued a small cir- 
cle of gentlemen standing around him. 

“The poets are right,” cried he, “the women are 
flowers and the girls are buds; I would never believe 
it before; to-day has been to me a day of enlighten- 
ment; I see nothing but flowers, gentlemen, dark and 
fair, red and white — in short, flowers in all the colors of 
the rainbow. But the fairest of all, the queen-flower, 
is the wearer of the myrtle wreath, with the blue- 
black curls and two sparkling black diamonds for her 
eyes; it is Lea, the bride — the young wife of our host 
— who supplied us with such excellent wine! I owe 
her especial thanks, gentlemen. I doubted love; I 
smiled when I read: ‘Stronger than death is love.’ 
For those words of the poet I found until to-day no 
authentic proof: but now I have a living illustration 
of this text ; and I beg of you, gentlemen, to imagine 
that we still have our champagne glasses in our hands, 
and to join with me in crying: 'Long live the charm- 
ing bride!’” 

Applause and laughter followed the humpback’s 
words, which he uttered so gravely, so earnestly, that 






■i:#:# s,. 









Ik 


JON EL FORTUN^T 


175 


the guests did not know whether they came from his 
heart or whether he, in his intoxication, was amusing 
himself at their expense. 

After Herr Tschukee had relieved himself by this 
improvised speech, he seized Herr Dobrescu^s arm, 
walked up and down the room with him several times, 
and then hastened to Lea, who was sitting opposite 
the balcony doors, between Madame Fortunat and 
Madame Falutza. 

Tschukee tried all in his power to induce Lea to talk, 
but he only succeeded in drawing from her monosyl- 
labic replies, and as she answeredrhis questions with a 
short “yes” or “no,” or only with a shake of her head, 
she looked in his face absently, and turned her eyes 
now and then past him to the corner of the room where 
Jonel stood before Fraulein Pia Dobrescu. The law- 
yer followed the direction of her gaze. 

“Do you know, madame, ” smiled he, “that I am a 
thought-reader?” 

Lea looked at him in surprise. 

“Well, then, read my thoughts,” said she gravely. 

“I read in that frown upon your brow vexation that 
the prefect detains your husband with his long-winded 
election story, and deprives you of the happiness 
of having Herr Valsamaki at your side! Am I 
right?” . 

“Perhaps.” 

“Now what would you say,” continued he, “were I 
to entice your husband into the card-room? I should 
like to see if the adage is true; 'Lucky in love, un- 
lucky at cards!'” 


176 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


"Try and see," said Lea dryly, and her eyes again 
turned to the corner of the room. 

"My dear Tschukee, " suddenly cried Madame Fa- 
lutza, "a word with you!" she drew the humpback to- 
ward the balcony doors. "You are surely aware of the 
circumstances of the Dobrescu family," asked she con- 
fidentially, "how much do you think Fraulein Pia’s 
dowry will be?" 

"Do you wish to marry Fraulein Pia?" laughed the 
lawyer. 

"Perhaps; give me my answer!" 

"As far as I know, Fraulein Pia will have half of 
Bogdanesti and thirty thousand ducats cash." 

"That is splendid!" whispered the old lady. "Just 
see, our Jonel seems to have become infatuated with 
the fair dove. I noticed it at the table, and he has 
been standing before her half an hour, looking neither 
to the right nor left but directly in her eyes, talking 
with genuine ardor. What do you think, dear Tschu- 
kee; would they not make a fine couple?" 

The lawyer laughed. 

"Indeed I could not wish Jonel to have a better or 
a prettier bride than Fraulein Pia Dobrescu! And if 
you have a hand in the matter, I can look upon it as 
already half accomplished." 

"That you may," cried Madame Falutza, "I shall 
speak to Herr Fortunat about it at once. One must 
strike while the iron is hot.". The old lady pressed the 
humpback’s hand and tripped away. 

Herr Tschukee looked after her with a smile. 

"That old Falutza," murmured he, "really has the 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


177 


devil in her! ” He again approached Lea. “Will you 
permit me to take Herr Valsamaki to the card-table? “ 

She did not seem to have heard his question. The 
lawyer looked searchingly in her face; she was strik- 
ingly pale, and her eyes, that gazed vacantly- into 
space, sparkled strangely, while about her lips there 
was a nervous quiver. “A happy bride should not look 
thus,” thought he. 

“You are vexed with me, madame, ” said he, and this 
time his voice sounded warm and tender, “because I 
propose to carry off Herr Valsamaki to the card-ta- 
ble? ” 

She started at these words as if awakening from a 
dream. “Vexed? Indeed not!” smiled she. 

The humpback looked at her a long time, until she 
lowered her lids with a blush. 

“Your eyes are strangely like JonePs,” said he, in 
an undertone. 

“Do you think so?” cried she. 

“I told my young friend so not long ago, and I 
should not be surprised if Fraulein Dobrescu were to 
gaze into those liquid depths farther than is good for 
her peace of mind. Indeed the misfortune seems to 
have happened this evening; and a good fairy — Mad- 
ame Falutza, in fact — is already endeavoring to make 
another couple happy. Madame Falutza will soon earn 
for herself a reward for making matches! Only see 
how eagerly she is talking with Herr Fortunat. And 
now I must leave you a short while; I feel drawn 
toward the card-table. Auf wiedersehen ! ” 

Herr Valsamaki, who was standing in the center of 


12 


178 


JOl^EL FORTUNE T 


the saloon in earnest conversation with the prefect, 
seemed at first undecided, when the humpback asked 
him to play a game. He turned and looked question- 
ingly at Lea; she nodded to him with a smile; he was 
not satisfied, however, with this consent, but went up 
to his wife, bent over her and asked her softly if she 
would permit him to go to the card-room for one hour; 
Herr Tschukeehad asked him, he had indeed told him 
that she was satisfied, but he wished to hear it from 
her own lips. 

“If it gives you any pleasure,” said Lea, hastily, 
“do so; you must not interfere with the enjoyment of 
such a guest as Herr Tschukee, and then the dancing 
will soon begin; as you do not dance it would bore 
you here. So that you may not be jealous,” contin- 
ued she, smiling, “I promise you that I will not dance 
either. But play carefully, not too high nor too long.” 

Then she took his hand and pressed it lightly. 

Herr Valsamaki trembled at that gentle pressure ; he 
raised his head, he looked at the guests; he felt 
prouder, happier and more contented than ever in his 
life, and he felt as if he must say to the people: “I 
invited all of 3^ou so that you ‘might see with your 
own eyes, that I am no fool. Has anyone of you a 
wife as lovely, as sensible, as loving as my Lea?” 
Then he bent over her again, whispered in her ear: 
“My sweet, dear little wife!” and walked quickly 
through the saloon to the adjoining card room. 

At that moment Gregory struck up a waltz. At the 
first bar several gentlemen hurried up to Lea to en- 
gage her for a dance, but she told them very politely 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


179 


that she did not wish to dance. She sat there quie^, 
sad and thoughtful, looking at the dancers, but she 
only saw one couple — Jonel arid Fraulein Pia Dobrescu. 
As her eyes followed the dancers, as she saw Pia float- 
ing through the room, encircled by JonePs arm, a 
feeling of bitterness possessed her, which she could 
not account for. 

Why was she so sad? why was her heart so heavy? 
Had she not obtained everything that she had always 
longed for? Had not all of her dreams been fulfilled? 
She was the wife of a wealthy man who loved, yes adored 
her. The once poor Jewess was now the equal of the 
handsome, rich, and gayly-dressed ladies who graced 
her wedding'feast. And she outshone them all — that 
was proven to her by the admiring glances of the men. 
The future lay before her rosy and free from care. 

‘T will be happy,*’ she said to herself as she forced 
a smile; but it was a miserable one, and it soon van- 
ished. The merry waltz-measures sounded to her 
peculiarly sad, and it seemed to her as if a strange, 
mysterious voice whispered in her ear: 

“What you have attained is not the deep, pure hap- 
piness for which you longed in your maiden-dreams; 
it is not that bliss which fills the heart with joy. 
To experience that, you too would have to float 
through the saloon pressed against your beloved’s 
breast in self-oblivious intoxication like that youthful, 
blooming couple — like Jonel and Pia.” 

As this thought passed through her mind, she felt a 
pang at her heart, and her white teeth were pressed 
upon her under lip. O, that Pia! she was the same 


180 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


proud, overbearing creature that she had been at 
school! She had greeted her, Lea, coldly and form- 
ally as if a gulf, which could not be bridged over, still 
yawned between them, as if she were still the poor 
Jewess, at whom Pia formerly turned up her nose. 

How coquettish she was! how she made use of her 
angelic blue eyes in order to allure Jonel, poor, silly 
boy! 

She had allured him; and now Madame Falutza 
wished to make a happy couple of them! they were 
happy already! 

Such thoughts filled Lea^s mind; and she felt that 
now a hot flush, now a deep pallor overspread her 
face. She shook her head as if she wished to banish 
all the thoughts that besieged her, but she did not 
succeed. And while all about her made merry, and 
the strains of music sounded, one question after an- 
other presented itself: 

“Why is Jonel so pale, so serious? Why has he 
scarcely noticed me to-day? Why did his congratu- 
lations sound so cold? Why has he only eyes for Pia? 
Why no glance for me? He only met Pia to-day for 
the first time, and has she captivated him so quickly?” 

In the midst of these questions she was reminded 
of one circumstance: That day in the church, before 
the altar, at the moment when her bridegroom placed 
the ring upon her finger, moved by a sudden impulse, 
she had raised her eyes and they met Jonehs. A sec- 
ond she gazed in his face; he was deathly pale, his 
lips quivered and in his eyes was a sorrowful expres- 
sion. What did that glance, that perplexing question 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


181 


which she read in his eyes, mean? The more she 
thought of it, the more vividly did that moment ap- 
pear before her; she saw Jonel, as she had seen him 
in the semi-darkness of the church, she looked search- 
ingly at his nervously twitching mouth, she gazed in- 
to his eyes in order to find out of what they were 
speaking. 

And what they said was a mute reproach, yea more, 
it was the expression of undying grief at the loss of 
what he held dearest upon earth; it was the burning 
despair of a hopeless passion, of a hopeless love! 
Love! She clung to this word, she murmured it un- 
consciously again and again; it seemed to her as if 
every tone of the music rang with it, as if all the gay 
couples repeated it, until it proceeded from thousands 
of tongues, from thousands of instruments: “Love, 
Love ! “ 

As she sat there agitated by feverish thoughts and 
emotions, now smiling with rapture, now gazing 
dreamily before her, she scarcely noticed that one 
hour after another passed, that now the prefect, now 
the fat justice tried all in their power to interest her, 
and that even the many pretty speeches which Herr 
Dobrescu whispered to her, fell upon her ear un- 
heeded. 

When the guests began to leave, she kissed a num- 
ber of ladies and felt the gentlemen press her hand, 
but nothing was clear to her until Jonel approached 
her. Then she started as if from a dream and looked 
about her in confusion. There were no more guests 
in the saloon, and she stood before him with spark- 


182 


JOr^EL FORT Uhl AT 


ling eyes; she looked at him a second, then she grasped 
his hand and these words escaped her: 

“Why do you pain me so, Jonel?" 

He did not reply to those strange words, but she 
thought she saw the same question in his eyes that she 
had seen in them at the church that day; but it was 
only for a moment He returned the pressure of her 
hand, turned hastily and left the room. She looked 
after him and when the door had closed behind him, 
she sank into a chair, and covered her face with her 
hands. She would gladly have wept, but not a tear 
came into her burning eyes. 

Suddenly she heard loud laughter in the next room; 
she sprang up; it was unnaturally quiet in the empty 
saloon in which but a short while since there had been 
so much mirth and gayety; she looked timidly about 
her and met the gaze of the old gyspy, Paraskiza, who 
was standing at the door of the room whence proceeded 
the laughter. 

Lea took several steps forward, and looked through 
the open door into the room in which Herr Tschukee 
and Valsamaki sat by a round, green table playing 
cards. Before the humpback lay a pile of gold pieces, 
while at fiis feet stood several wine bottles. 

‘“Lucky in love, unlucky at cards!^” she heard him 
cry, "the old adage has to-day been confirmed!" He 
rose and filled his pockets with the gold-pieces he 
had won. Soon after, he stood before Lea; he was 
pale, excited. 

‘“Lucky in love, unlucky at cards,’ the adage has 
been confirmed, " said he, drawing a handful of money 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


183 


from his pocket. ''Gold, gold,” continued he, softly, 
“do you know what gold is, beautiful bride? Gold is 
power, gold is happiness, gold is love! With such 
gold one can buy everything — knowledge and con- 
science, beauty and youth — and it is said that even 
love can be bought for shining, yellow gold.” 

A hot blush suffused Lea’s face. "Herr Tschukee! ” 
cried she. He looked at her in a dazed manner. 
Then he laughed softly to himself. "O, those eyes,” 
murmured he, "those eyes’ Why did the Almighty 
create such eyes and such a hump? Why, most 
beautiful of all beautiful women?” 

"Leave me! You have been drinking !” escaped Lea’s 
lips. 

"I have been drinking a great deal, lovely bride, 
for when I drink I forget that the Almighty created 
such eyes, and such a hump — I forget that to-day — 
but it is time to go, farewell!” 

He seized Lea’s hand, kissed it and hastily left 
the room. Lea stood there a second absently, her 
head upon her breast. The wild words of the hump- 
back whirled through her brain. Then she raised her 
head and looked at her husband ; he must have lost 
and drunk much; he was sitting in a chair, his eyes 
half-closed, his head upon his breast, his hands with 
their long, thin fingers lay upon the table; suddenly 
he started out of his doze ; he saw Lea. 

"My sweet, little wife!” cried he, rising with diffi- 
culty and approaching Lea with unsteady steps. He 
looked terrible with his hollow, wrinkled cheeks, his 
sharp chin, his bald head and his dark, glowing eyes 


184 


JONEL FORTUhlAT 


beneath their bushy brows. He smiled at Lea, but as 
he stood before her the smile suddenly vanished from 
his lips; he uttered several unintelligible words and 
fell to the floor unconscious. 

"Be not afraid, my dove," cried the gypsy, Paraskiza, 
"his lordship sometimes has fainting-fits, and more 
especially when he has been drinking and has lost 
money, as he has to-day; it will soon pass over. I 
will fetch a little vinegar and rub his forehead with 
it. Be not afraid, my dove!" 

With these words the gypsy hurried away. 

Lea looked anxiously upon the unconscious old man 
at her feet; she bent over him, but drew back horri- 
fied as her face touched the faded, cold, furrowed face 
of her husband, and the fumes of the wine reached 
her. 

Then Paraskiza reappeared with a bottle filled 
with vinegar in her hand. Lea turned away; she felt 
as if she should suffocate in the heavy, impure air of 
the saloon; she opened the glass door and stepped out 
upon the balcony. Over the heavens flew heavy, 
dark clouds through which now and then the crescent 
appeared; a cold wind swept over the broad, dark 
plain, and the poor woman felt as if a thousand voices 
were weeping in chorus. And in the midst of all this 
tumult she heard distinctly a familiar voice — the 
voice of her father- -and she saw the old Jew with his 
mournful eyes, sitting in his poverty-stricken, bare 
room — saw him shake his head and heard him cry, 
"Lea!" And as she heard this cry she felt as if 
someone caught the golden threads about her shoul- 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


185 


ders, pulled her hair, and grasped the myrtle wreath 
upon her brow: it was the storm. 

“You shall have it!” cried she. With a wild gest- 
ure she tore the wreath from her head, picked off the 
buds, and threw them to the winds. Then the light- 
ning flashed and for a moment everything was as bright 
as day; she saw the broad plain and the high road 
leading to the castle of Banesti, then it grew dark; 
the windows of the castle were brightly lighted, and 
she sat upon the balcony at Florica^s feet and looked 
into the saloon, where Zilibi stood upon an estrade be- 
fore the musicians, and brought forth from his violin 
sweet, fiery strains; Jonel stood next them and told 
with glowing e3^es of the deeds of Prince Mihai the 
Brave, and she listened to his words and trembled 
with joy and bliss. O, she had loved him then; then 
a spark of that wild, demoniacal fire which now con- 
sumed her very soul, had smoldered in her childisii 
heart. 

“Jonel!” she cried, then she leaned her head against 
the cold glass door, upon which drops of rain had 
begun to patter, and wept bitterly. 


XV 


During the drive homeward from Valeni to Banes- 
ti, Madame Fortunat was in a very merry mood; she 
laughed, jested, and made all manner of ironical re- 
marks about the wedding guests, spoke of the Dobrescu 
family, praised Fraulein Pia very highly, and asked 
Jonel how the young lady had pleased him. 

Jonel, who had been silent all the way, answered 
shortly: Fraulein Pia was a very pretty, clever girl. 

“You are a rogue! ’’ laughed Madame Fortunat. 
“Fraulein Pia has made quite an impression upon you, 
indeed you paid her marked attention, and it seems 
that you have found favor in her eyes, which is fortu- 
nate; Pia is certainly very much sought after, and 
has already refused several good offers; you may be 
proud of your conquest. It would be a stroke of good 
luck for you, Jonel; a charming girl, a large dowry, 
an aristocratic family; what else could you ask?” 

Jonel was wounded at the flippant way in which his 
step-mother handled the subject. 

“I am not thinking of marriage!” cried he. 

”Ah, well, we shall see!” cried Madame Fortunat. 
What do you think about it?” she turned to her hus- 
band. 

“I do not meddle with affairs of the heart,” said 
Herr Fortunat evasively. 


186 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


187 


“Then we will let things take their own course," said 
she. She remained silent a while, J:hen she suddenly 
exclaimed: “you will surely admit, Jonel, that it is 
your bounden duty to do all in your power to avert 
the ruin of your family?" 

“I shall not shirk that duty," said Jonel gravely. 

“Not if by marriage with a wealthy bride you could 
fulfill that duty?" 

She seized his hand. 

“Mother;" said Jonel firmly, “I beg of you to drop 
this subject." 

“Why, may I ask?" 

“Because — because I am not just at present in the 
mood to discuss such questions." 

Madame Fortunat laughed scornfully, but spoke not 
another word. Soon after the droschke rattled into 
the castle-court. When Jonel entered his room, he 
found old Alex comfortably ensconced in an easy- 
chair before the stove, in which crackled several logs 
of wood. 

“Pardon me, gracious sir," said Alex, springing up 
and scratching his head, “I have been watching for 
you fully two hours, and fatigue overcame me." 

“Why did you wait up for me?" 

“For good reasons," said Alex; “this evening I noticed 
the burgomaster, Dumitree Velic, skulking about the 
manor. ‘He must have some request to make,’ 
thought I. ‘Why do you sneak about here like a fox 
about a chicken-coop?’ I asked him. At that Velic 
made a devilishly grave face, gave me a letter, and 
made me swear by all the saints that I would give it 
to you with my own hand. Here it is!" 


188 


JOr^EL FORTUNAT 


With these words Alex drew a sealed letter from 
his belt, and handed it to Jonel, who hastily broke 
the seal. It contained a few lines in a large hand. 

“The farmers of Banesti,” so ran the writing signed 
by Father Constantin and countersigned by Mayor 
Velic, “propose holding an open-air meeting next 
Sunday after service, before Naftali’s tavern, in or- 
der to consult about the suit with the lord of Banesti, 
and beg their gracious young master to attend their 
meeting. “ 

Jonel glanced at the lines, threw the letter upon 
the table, and dismissed Alex; he sank into a chair 
before the fire and gazed into the same meditatively, 
scarcely knowing himself of what he was thinking; 
as he sat there and brooded, his heart was stirred by a 
deep burning pain; an unspeakable sadness possessed 
him, so that he felt as if he must cry aloud. The 
burning pain grew and grew until it lay upon his 
mind like a mighty mountain. His head became 
heavy — it dropped upon his breast. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by a strange 
moaning and whispering. He sprang up, out of 
doors the storm had burst in all its fury, and drove 
heavy drops of rain against the panes. And as he 
stood in the center of the room, he saw before him 
his reflection in the mirror, and he was startled at his 
ghastly face and his feverishly bright eyes. O! they 
were her eyes, Lea’s eyes! Suddenly the ban which lay 
upon him was loosed as if by magic, and with terrible 
clearness he saw what until then had been unknown 
to him; then he knew that he loved Lea deeply, pas- 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


189 


sionately, and with the knowledge of this occurred to 
him the words she had addressed to him at parting: 
"Why do you pain me so, Jonel?” 

And the purport of these words was evident to 
him; he then understood the significance of her 
glance at the church. 

"She loves me! " he rejoiced — afid in his delight he 
forgot that that day had been Lea’s wedding-day; he 
saw her before him, the lovely, blooming, enchanting 
woman with the soulful eyes, with the refined, sensi- 
tive red lips, and he laughed, and kissed inspirit that 
mouth and those eyes, pressed her to him, and whis- 
pered a thousand sweet words of love in her ears; but 
this intoxication only lasted a short time, for the 
thought that Lea was the wife of another, that she was 
bound to an old man, and separated forever from him, 
shot like a flash through his brain; he threw himself 
upon his bed and closed his eyes. 

"I must not think! I must not think!" cried he, but 
his heated fancy presented to him over and over again 
Lea and Valsamaki — plainly, clearly, almost life-like. 
In vain did he bury his face in the pillows; the pict- 
ure was before him and would not be dispelled. He 
felt as if he must go out into the dark, stormy night, 
in order to seek someone upon whose breast he could 
weep away his grief and misery; then it occurred to 
him that Florica had promised to wait up until he re- 
turned from the wedding. He looked at his watch; it 
was three o’clock. 

"Perhaps she is not yet asleep," murmured he, has- 
tening out. 


190 


JOhlEL FORT Uhl AT 


Indeed Florica was not asleep. When Jonel entered 
her room, .she lay upon the divan still dressed. The 
lamp, which hung from the ceiling, diffused a rosy 
light through the cozy room. 

“I waited for you, Jonel,” said she softly, but when 
she looked into his agitated face, she started up in 
terror. “What ails you?” cried she. 

“Nothing, nothing,” murmured he inaudibly, sink- 
ing down beside her, and gazing absently before him. 
Florica took his hand. 

“Jonel,” she implored, “speak! you look as if some 
terrible misfortune had befallen you! Have you quar- 
reled with mamma again? She was just here and com- 
plained of you bitterly. Speak, Jonel!” 

He slowly shook his head. 

“Your mother means well,” said he with a bitter 
smile, “she wants me to marry Fraulein Dobrescu. O! 
she takes an interest in my welfare ; she is a very good 
woman!” 

“Jonel! ” cried Florica, reproachfully. 

“Pardon me, Florica,” cried he with great tender- 
ness, embracing her and kissing her eyes; “I am in- 
deed unkind; you await me, my sweet little sister, 
until three o’clock in the morning so that you can hear 
about the wedding, and I trouble you with my whims! 
You must forgive me, Florica, but of late so many 
things have come upon me, that I have completely 
lost my balance. What was I about to say?” contin- 
ued he with affected gayety: “the wedding, oh yes, 
the wedding — it was fine — nothing but pleasant gen- 
tlemen, charming ladies; I enjoyed myself immensely, 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


191 


and danced more than I have ever done in my life. 
Fraulein Dobrescu is a bewitching girl, a lovely 
gretchen, but so sad ; and the bride — oh, she was beau- 
tiful, very beautiful, oh, yes, too beautiful’ ” He 
laughed aloud. 

This laugh made Florica uncomfortable; she looked 
anxiously into jonel’s face; a dread suspicion arose in 
her mind. For awhile silence reigned, broken only by 
the ticking of a clock, which stood upon a marble 
table next the divan. The storm was still raging out- 
of-doors, and the rain-drops pattered against the win- 
dows. Jonel rose, walked up and down the room, 
then stopped before Florica and said gloomily: “I am 
very unhappy, Florica.” 

“Why?” asked she, quickly. 

“You will perhaps not understand me,” said he; ‘T 
scarcely understand myself. I love Lea,” escaped his 
lips; “now you know it! ” 

At these words a shiver passed through the girPs 
frame. He did not notice it; he did not perceive the 
deep blush which suffused her cheeks, nor the two 
tears which trembled on her lashes. 

“Sit down by me, Jonel,” said she. He sat down 
beside her, she threw her arm around his neck, and 
asked: “Why did you not tell me this sooner?” 

“What good would it have done, Florica? I scarcely 
knew myself what power that woman had gained over 
my life; only this evening did I discover it — and now 
I feel so miserable that I long for death.” 

“You must not say such a thing, Jonel,” she ex- 
claimed; “no, you must not! Be brave, dear, little 


192 


JOhlEL FORTUhlAT 


brother. Is it absolutely necessary for one to be happy 
in this life? Look at me as I lie here ill and ailing, 
yet I cling to life, and am cheerful and contented 
when others are the same, and you are a man — the 
world is before you, you are young, handsome, and are 
just beginning life — must I remind you of your letters 
in which you described to me your longing to be great? 
Were those only dreams, Jonel? And must I, the poor, 
sick girl, recall them to your memory? You are un- 
happy because Lea is married. Is she worth all this? 
I love Lea, I do not myself know why, for I have often 
thought that she was heartless, unfeeling and selfish. 
Do you believe that she married Valsamaki for love, 
out of gratitude? Ah, pah, she wished to better her- 
self; she wished to play her part in society. Should 
such a woman make you wretched and unhappy, Jonel? 
If 3^ou really love her, tear her image from your heart; 
work, and become a celebrated lawyer, a famous au- 
thor, a poet — and you will find a girl who will love 
you as you deserve to be loved. Be brave, Jonel!” 

Jonel listened to her; when she finished he remained 
a second lost in thought, then he said: 

“You are right, Florica, it is foolish to waste one's 
entire life on account of a mad infatuation; I will 
work, fight — and I shall forget her.” 

He arose; a desolate smile hovered about his mouth; 
he pressed her hand and left her. She listened until 
his footsteps died away, then her head sank back upon 
the couch, and as she looked silently at the ceiling, 
one tear after another coursed down her cheeks. 


XVI 


The little mayor of Banesti, Herr Dumitree Velic, 
had been married a year. When he was first engaged 
and informed Zilibi Psantir of the joyful fact, the 
latter shook his head doubtfully, and reminded him of 
three things: “Firstly, you are almost forty and your 
bride twenty; you are old enough therefore to be her 
father; secondly, your Ileana is not an ugly girl, 
while you would not strike any woman’s fancy had 
you not a wart upon your bulbous nose; and thirdly, 
Ileana was Madame Fortunat’s maid, and by associa- 
tion with her has become refined and lady-like^ so 
she will scarcely be a mate for 3^ou. Therefore, be 
careful.” At that the mayor had nodded his little 
head very solemnly, but did not heed the Jew’s warn- 
ing, for Herr Dumitree Velic was in love. His bride 
was no very striking beauty; her nose was rather flat, 
her mouth a trifle wide, and she squinted somewhat; 
but she was almost twice as tall as Herr Dumitree 
Velic, large-boned and fleshy, for Herr Velic had quite 
a weakness for that style of woman. 

So Ileana became his lawful wife; but Zilibi Psantir 
was right, for it was rumored in Banesti that Herr 
Dumitree Velic, who formerly had always held his own, 
and whose word was law in the community, was often 
13 193 


194 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


snubbed; that the honorable mayor within his own 
four walls, was very timid, very humble, and danced 
just as his wife whistled. 

Father Constantin had once related atNaftali’s tav- 
ern, that one Sunday as he passed Herr Velic’s house 
at midnight, he heard a sound like a box upon the 
ears. 

The stories of Father Constantin’s midnight advent- 
ures were not generally credited, for his holiness, at 
that hour on Sunday, usually staggered home in a very 
doubtful condition, and indulged in all kinds of fanci- 
ful dreams; but the stor}^ of the suspicious noise in 
Herr Velic’s dwelling was belieyed without any excep- 
tion, and Ileana, the mayor’s large better-half, was 
looked upon by the wives of Banesti as a phenome- 
non, admired, yes, and envied by them, for such a 
thing as a woman being bold enough to box her hus- 
band’s ears without his daring to retaliate was un- 
heard of in Banesti. 

Herr Dumitree Velic bore his fate like a philosopher, 
with silent resignation, though he often wondered why 
he had been chosen to illustrate that the scriptural 
text: "He shall be thy master,” did not always hold 
good. But when he looked at his fleshy wife, it gave 
him pleasure to think that he could call such a strong, ‘ 
well-built woman his, and consoled himself by saying 
that for such charms one must be satisfied to overlook 
trifles. This consolation raised Herr Dumitree Velic’s 
courage, on the evening before that Sunday upon which 
the meeting at Banesti was to take place. 

Herr Velic, in order to make this manifestation im- 


JOr^EL FORTUNAT 


195 


pressive, had worked very hard, indeed he had prepared 
a fine speech, which he had read to his wife with self- 
satisfied delight, and which he anticipated would elec- 
trify the farmers; but at the last moment the worthy 
ma3^or suffered a terrible disappointment. Madame 
Fortunat sent for Ileana, and when, after several 
hours, she returned, she planted herself directly in 
front of her husband, and said shortly and concisely: 
"You will not make your speech to-morrow, Tica!" 

When Ileana made use of the tender abbreviation of 
his name, Herr Dumitree Velic suspected that a 
storm was brewing. 

"Why not?" asked he, timidly. 

"For a thousand reasons!" said Ileana. "Madame 
Fortunat is very much provoked at your attempts to 
agitate the people. ‘If your husband is anxious to 
pass some time in prison, let him continue his course,^ 
said she to me. You will, therefore, not deliver your 
speech, Tica; let others do that part. Must you al- 
ways poke your nose into everything?" 

"But this is politics, my child," said Herr Dumitree 
Velic, gravely; "women do not understand such mat- 
ters. " 

"Politics!” laughed the stout woman; "and I do 
not understand, Tica? Really, do I not understand?" 

With these words she walked up to her husband, 
and if Father Constantin had accidentally been within 
ear-shot, he would that time have heard the strange 
sound upon which his holiness had once speculated. 


XVII 


Naftali thoughtfully brushed his red curls and 
looked at the forms in the square before his tavern. 
There were sixty farmers, rugged men, with long, 
waving hair and expressive faces, most of them at- 
tired in their picturesque, national costume, with 
white, gayly-embroidered jackets, black, broad- 
brimmed felt hats on which red, blue and yellow rib- 
bons fluttered, white, tight-fitting trousers of some 
fleecy material, coarse shoes upon their feet, and 
around their waists, broad leather belts ornamented 
with small brass hooks. Although it was just ten 
o’clock, the farmers had fortified themselves by means 
of numerous drinks, so that they were very much ex- 
cited, and this circumstance was the cause of Naftali’s 
nervousness; for the delight occasioned him by the 
prospect of the consumption of great quantities of wine 
and whisky, was embittered by several sad thoughts. 

There were, first of all, amongst the farmers many 
who were deep in his debt, and it was very probable 
that their drinks for that day would be added to the 
other charges. Furthermore he feared that, owing to 
the crowd, a favorable opportunity would be afforded 
some to get away without paying anything; and final- 
ly, Naftali could not get rid of the idea that when 
the excitement was at its highest pitch a brawl would 

100 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


197 


ensue, during which chairs, bottles and other effects 
would be destro3^ed, besides other damages for which 
no one would compensate him, and there was always 
a chance that at such times a few cuffs would be 
thrown in for the tavern-keeper. 

All these thoughts passed through Naf tali’s mind, as 
his small gray eyes rested upon the farmers, who 
stood before the tavern in groups, debating earnestly, 
while upon the street women and girls chattered and 
laughed, a number of street Arabs wrestled, and sev- 
eral dogs howled miserably. Not only Naftali, but 
the once so talkative Mayor Velic, was also sad; he 
was thinking of his speech; he had worked at it a 
whole week so carefully and woven in many a telling 
phrase, which he selected for this purpose from the 
printed speeches of the deputies. And now that speech 
could not be delivered! It was a heavy blow to him; 
he ran nervously from one group to another, threw 
,in a word first here and then there, in order in this 
way to at least relieve his heavily laden heart. 

Toward half-past ten. Father Constantin and Zilibi 
arrived. They now only awaited Jonel, who also soon 
appeared. The farmers received the son of the lord 
of Banesti with genuine delight and with great re- 
spect. All pressed about him in order to shake his 
hand. 

“Now we can begin,” said Father Constantin. 

Herr Velic had had a small, but very primitive 
rostrum erected next the tavern. Father Constantin 
was the first to speak. His reverence seldom exer- 
cised his oratorical gift, although his calling afforded 


198 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


him many opportunities. Only once, years before, 
did he one Sunday deliver a long, touching sermon 
upon charitableness, to his congregation, when he re- 
quested those women, who hoped for forgiveness of 
sins, to bring a dozen fowls to church with a franc 
around the neck of each, to aid them in their praise- 
worthy aim. Those twelve fowls and the twelve sil- 
ver pieces had affected him so deeply,, had filled his 
heart with such love of mankind, that he spoke very 
touchingly; but it did not profit him, for a week after- 
ward he received a grave rebuke from his superior, 
who had been informed of the story of the twelve 
fowls. 

That sermon was Father Constantin’s first and last. 
What wonder was it that he was confused, as he, stand- 
ing upon the rostrum, saw all eyes fixed anxiously up- 
on him. He cleared his throat, wiped his forehead 
with his red-flowered pocket handkerchief, took the 
glass of whisky that Naftali handed him, emptied 
it at one draught, and that glass of whisky worked 
wonders. . He began to speak; he talked some time 
— at first hesitatingly and disconnectedly — but he soon 
grew enthusiastic and the words came quicker. He 
kept up until he was finally seized with a coughing 
spell, which interrupted his speech. He lost the thread 
of his discourse, but he cleverly avoided the rocks. 

“What I wished to sa}^’ to you besides, my brethren,” 
cried he, pathetically, “I have forgotten for the mo- 
ment, but you can imagine! One thing is certain, we 
will risk every penny to protect our rights. If we 
win our suit, all will be well, if not — 


JONEL FORTUNE T 


199 


The priest stopped. What would happen in case of 
such an event, the priest had not fully decided; he 
put his fore-finger to his red nose and looked thought- 
fully before him. The crowd grew impatient. 

“Well, what then?” cried several voices. “That is 
the principal thing, what then?” 

“Then shall the devil take all the pettifoggers!” 
cried Father Constantin, striking the table with his 
clinched fist. 

But the farmers did not seem to put much faith in 
the devil. A low murmur passed through the throng. 

* But before the devil gets them,” cried Dragosch, 
“our estate will be at the devil!” 

“Compose yourselves, my children,” cried the priest, 
“we need not think about it;* I hope that the noble 
heir of Banesti, who is with us to-day, will intercede 
for us ; therefore, I call upon you to give three cheers 
for our gracious young lord!” 

“Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!” cried the farmers, as 
with one voice. 

Jonel blushed; he did not just know how he should 
act in the face of this spontaneous ovation. Then 
Velic whispered to him: “Gracious sir, you must now 
make a short speech!” 

Jonel ascended the rostrum, but at that moment was 
heard upon the highway the cracking of a whip, and a 
coach in which sat Madame Fortunat rattled up. The 
coach was followed by two lumber wagons in which 
sat Alecu, the “vechil” (overseer) of Banesti, a gigan- 
tic, coarse fellow, and several other servants from the 
manor. 


200 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


The coach stopped, Madame Fortunat descended. 
The striking appearance of the handsome lady of 
Banesti exercised a fascinating effect upon the farmers. 
In a trice all heads were uncovered, only Dragosch 
kept his fur cap upon his head and stared angrily at 
Madame Fortunat, who walked through the crowd 
which respectfully opened to allow her to pass; she 
stepped to the rostrum, and stood there without deign- 
ing to glance at Jonel. 

Madame Fortunat looked very calm and composed, 
but the deep pallor of her cheek and her sparkling 
eyes betrayed her inward agitation. 

“I know the object of your meeting,” began she, 
very distinctly, “and I have come to give you advice; 
but first I should like to ask you a few questions; Has 
not Herr Fortunat, my husband, been a kind master? 
Has he not always helped those byword and deed who 
came to him in need of either? I see amongst you some 
who owe us money, who have not met their engage- 
ments for years; but can anyone assert that Herr For- 
tunat has complained of any of you, that he has ever 
fined one of you, or sold your goods at auction as 
almost all of our neighbors do? Yes or no! ” 

Silence reigned. 

“You are silent,” continued she after a pause, “you 
then admit that I speak the truth; if that is so, why 
have you no confidence in your lord? Why did you 
not come to him and say: ‘You have won the suit, 
Herr Fortunat, but you are a kind man; you will not 
allow us to beg!’ Why did you not do that? I will tell 
you; because someone has been putting ideas into your 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


201 


heads; because you think you will intimidate us; but 
you forget that the lord of Banesti has more power 
and more influence than your agitators have, who will 
only bring misfortune upon you, while we mean well 
by you — do you hear? We would gladly compromise 
with you; what do you think about it, Herr Burgo- 
master? ” 

The person addressed, who was standing directly in 
front of Madame Fortunat, started at this direct ques- 
tion, hesitated and murmured several unintelligible 
words. 

“What do you think about it, Herr Velic?” repeated 
Madame Fortunat, peremptorily. 

“I think,” stammered Herr Velic, “that a lean com- 
promise is better than a fat suit.” 

“You hear,” continued Madame Fortunat, and a 
slight smile curled her lips, “Velic is of my opinion. 
You have now your choice between continuing a 
hopeless, expensive suit and a cheap compromise. But 
before you decide remember that you are dependent 
upon our assistance — that you are powerless without 
the aid of the lord of Banesti. Is this tru6 or untrue? 
Who gave you money in time of need? Who fur- 
nished you with farming implements? Who caused 
Banesti to be connected with the station by a good 
high-road? Who built your school and your church? 
Who did all this? Tell me, tell me!” she turned to 
Father Constantin. The holy father, as her dark blue 
sparkling eyes looked at him searchingly, lowered his 
lids. 

“It cannot be denied,” said he, in confusion, “that 


202 


JONEL FORTUhlAT 


Herr Fortunat is a kind and honorable man. God 
grant him a long life.” 

‘‘A long and happy life! ” cried the burgomaster. 

“Herr Fortunat is a good man!” cried several other 
voices. 

“Long live Herr Fortunat, our' benefactor!” 
cried Vechil Alecu, who stood behind Madame For- 
tunat with the rest of the servants. But this cry 
awoke no echo among the farmers, who looked at one 
another silently and timidly. 

Then Dragosch stepped forward, his fur cap still 
perched jauntily upon his head, and looking Madame 
Fortunat fearlessly in the eyes, cried: 

“You speak well and shrewdly, gracious madame, 
but we ivant our estate. Give us our property! If 
you take it from us, we shall be destitute; we are now 
very badly off, although we call a piece of land ours 
— and if — ” 

“I will tell you why you are so poor,” interrupted 
Madame Fortunat, and a hot blush suffused her 
cheeks, *T will tell you the reason! See” — she 
pointed toward the street, “all the fine stores with 
their wares for which you pay out your money — to 
whom do they belong? To the Jews! And how long 
ago is it since the Jews settled here? Twenty, thirty 
years, and during that time how have things gone? 
and do you know how and why that is so? While 
you starve, they are enriching themselves; while you 
work and earn your bread by the sweat of your brow 
the money — your money — passes into their pockets. 
Look at the Jewish women, they dress like ladies of 


10NEL FORTUNAT 


203 


fashion: look at this tavern keeper, who poisons you 
with his whisky; what you earn you carry to him! 
Am I right or not?” 

“The gracious lady is right.” said some voices. 

“The Jews are your ruin,” continued Madame Fortu- 
nat excitedly; “they are the cause of your poverty.” 

“Down with the Jews! ” cried Alecu. 

“Down with the Jews! ” repeated the servants from 
the manor. 

“Break the poison-mixer’s bottles!” yelled AJecu, 
and with those words he swung his stick against 
the window in which bottles, containing brandy and 
shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow, were 
standing. A crash followed. The farmers stood a 
second undecided, but when Alecu cried: “He who 
wishes to drink cheap wine and whisky, let him fpl- 
low me!” There was a stir and suddenly the loud 
cry “Down with the Jews!” rent the air. 

Then all cried* wildly: “Naftali, the poison-mixer, 
the usurer, is our ruin! Out with the Jews! we 
will have no Jews in Banesti! out with the Jews!” 

Up to that time Jonel had stood motionlessly upon 
the rostrum with eyes cast down as if lost in thought. 
At that cry he sprang down deathly pale, with blaz- 
ing eyes, snatched the stick from Alecu, and cried in 
his strong voice: 

“Not a step further, wretch, if you value your life!” 

Alecu retreated. 

“Are you not ashamed,” escaped his lips, “are you 
not ashamed that instead of acting as men, you fall 
upon a poor man in this cowardly fashion and rob 
him!” 


204 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Tba farmers looked at one another abashed. Then 
Madame Fortunat approached Jonel; agiowing hatred 
blazed in her eyes, as she hissed these word: 

“I understand your heroism, Jonel, and I will tell 
you the cause, for you do not know it yourself — your 
Jewish blood has been aroused — your Jewish blood! ” 

He looked at her in amazement. She lowered her 
voice and said with an ironical smile: “When one 
has a Jewish mother one cannot stand quietly by and 
see one’s co-religionists abused! Adieu!” 

She turned and walked toward her carriage followed 
by Alecu and the servants. Soon after her calash 
rolled away. 

Upon Madame Fortunat’ s departure the spell 
which lay upon the crowd was broken; they began to 
to talk noisily about the incident; they laughed and 
swore. The shrill voice of the burgomaster, who had 
summoned up new courage and was ^delivering some 
of his most telling phrases was heard, while from the 
tavern came sounds of lamentation, as Naftali 
gathered up the remnants of the bottles and 
whimpered: 

“Ten bottles of whisky, a bottle of rum, and one 
of liqueur! who will pay me for them, 1 should like 
to know; who will pay me for them?” But his ques- 
tion remained unanswered, and it was small comfort 
for him that Dragosch cursed the bandit, Alecu. 

Jonel still stood there speechless and perplexed; 
his step-mother’s words whirled through his brain; 
he felt a hand upon his shoulder; Zilibi Psantir stood 
before him. Tears glistened in the Jew’s eyes. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


205 


“You are a noble, a good man, Jonel, “ said he in an 
agitated voice, pressed his hand, turned away hastily 
and vanished. 

At that moment Father Constantin approached him. 

“You must speak to the people, dear Jonel,” said 
he; “your step-mother's speech has made them un- 
easy; they must hear from your mouth that they can 
depend upon you; will you do it?” 

“I am ready,” said Jonel. He re-ascended the ros- 
trum, which was immediately surrounded by the 
men. 

Jonel laid the dispute clearly before them; he told 
them that he had inquired into all its details, and had 
arrived at the conclusion that the estate, Oance, was 
without a doubt their property ; he urgently recom- 
mended that as soon as it was possible they should 
appeal to the supreme court, and expressed a hope 
that that court would annul the verdict which was so 
very unjust. 

“I know,” continued he in a louder voice, “that I 
am acting against the interests of my own family, 
that I am taking sides against my own father, but I 
cannot and will not suffer our family to usurp the pos- 
sessions of others!” 

Loud applause followed those words. 

Jonel intended addressing a few more words to the 
men, but they died upon his lips. A droschke with 
four horses rushed along the road, and in that droschke 
sat Lea and her husband; she bent forward, Jonel rec- 
ognized her, his face grew pale, he shivered, and in- 
voluntarily closed his eyes. 


206 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


When he opened them the carriage had disappeared; 
he staggered from the rostrum like a drunken man. 
Father Constantin handed him a glass of wine; he 
also held one in his hand. 

“Your health, Jonel!” cried he. 

Jonel mechanically drank with him. In the mean- 
time, Gregory with his musicians had arrived, and 
as the first tones of a hora sounded, the crowd gave 
vent to their joy. Naftali’s nine living sons who 
acted as waiters, had all they could do to supply the 
wants of the multitude. 

Jonel was surrounded by the farmers with whom he 
clinked glasses; he was compelled to submit to the 
embraces of the priest, the burgomaster, and of 
Dragosch, who were all intoxicated, until finally, when 
the noise was at its highest pitch, he succeeded in 
withdrawing unnoticed. 

Disgusted with the coarseness of the people, his 
head heavy and confused by the whisky and wine to 
which he was unaccustomed, he wandered, his eyes 
upon the ground, slowly along the street of Banesti. 
It was long past noon, but he dreaded returning to 
the castle. Arrived at the extreme end of the village, 
he stopped and gazed at the road which led to the 
manor. He felt disconsolate and sad; he did not care 
to appear before his father in such a mood. As he 
considered what he should do, his gaze fell upon the 
church-yard; he passed through the open gate; all 
was quiet and peaceful within. He walked medita- 
tively between the mounds, over the yellow, faded 
leaves, which the autumn wind had torn from the trees 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


207 


and scattered upon the ground. Suddenly he stood 
before a green mound over which the slender branches 
of a weeping willow drooped. Upon the marble cross 
he read the name of his former tutor, Brunner. He 
sank upon the grave, and as he lay there, his eyes 
turned toward the blue vault of heaven. In that 
holy calm, which was only now and then broken by 
the rustling of a leaf, or by the twittering of a bird, 
that scene in the church-yard arose before him as upon 
that night when his return home was celebrated and 
he kissed Lea; that scene in the church-yard when 
Zilibi Psantir’s little daughter struck him on the fore- 
head with a stone. 

That was a happy time, and the remembrance of 
it called up a smile to his lips even then. He half- 
raised himself and looked over the mounds toward 
the little birch forest, and saw all that happened 
then as plainly as if it had been only yesterday. He 
saw his poor tutor, with his high hat upon one side 
of his head, exerting all his strength to stand up and 
walk straight, and he heard his silly laugh, an unmis- 
takable sign that Brunner had drunk too much; and 
he saw himself as he rushed up the alley to strike the 
Jewish boys, but the little Jewess with the white 
dress and blue-black curls, looked fearlessly and defi- 
antly in his eyes, she raised a stone, he heard a hiss- 
ing sound, and then he lay with a wounded forehead 
upon the large divan in Father Constantin’s room, with 
a confused feeling that Zilibi’ s daughter had pressed 
a kiss upon his lips. 

At that time the sun was setting just as now; the 


208 


JOf^EL FORTUNAT 


heavens were blue, the birds twittered and he walked 
home by Brunner’s side, and heard his deep voice, 
and his words were that he should be kind to and 
considerate of the Jews. 

“Poor Brunner, how your blue eyes would have 
sparkled with pleasure and pride, had you seen your 
pupil, the former Jew-hater, take Naftali’ s part ! “ 

As he murmured these words, he thought of what 
Madame Fortunat had whispered in his ear: Jewish 
blood, his mother a Jewess! He brooded with frown- 
ing brow over the meaning of those words. Was 
there any in them? Who was his mother? He had 
never known her; they had never spoken to him of 
her. 

His head sank upon his breast, he fell into a doze, 
but his excited imagination would not let him rest. 
All that had happened within the last few weeks — his 
sorrow at his father’s trouble, Florica’s hopeless ill- 
ness, the dread uncertainty with regard to his own 
fate, his anger at his step-mother, his indignation at 
the injustice done to the farmers, and the striving 
after a love which was lost forever — all passed through 
his mind; and it seemed to him as if all had been 
a dream, as if his whole life had been one horrible 
dream, 

Suddenly a harsh laugh grated upon his ear, a laugh 
that sounded very familiar to him. Who laughed like 
that? He thought and thought — and the laugh grew 
louder until it almost spoke these words: 

“Lovely, laughing, loving women!” 

He recognized the voice — it was Pantasi Tschukee’s; 


JONEL FORT UN AT 209 

-ind it seemed to him as if the humpback stood before 
him and said: 

“Yes, life is a dream if one does not know how to 
make the most of it. Enter into the ring, Jonel, see 
the lovely, laughing, loving women — see that bewitch- 
ing woman with the glowing eyes — with eyes like yours 
— do you know her? It is Lea, and she loves you, do 
you hear? She loves you; that is- no dream, it is 
sweet reality; draw her to you, Jonel, kiss her — kiss 
her!” 

Then he started from his dreaming, awakened by 
heavy, ujisteady steps, and a coarse, laughing voice. 
Father Constantin was staggering to his home; the 
holy father was very joyous; he held his hat in his 
hand like a cup; he clinked glasses • with imaginary 
comrades and cried: 

“Halleluja! your health, brother!” 

Then he stumbled over a cross and measured his 
length upon the ground. But that little accident did 
not disconcert his reverence; he stretched himself,' 
managed to roll over on his back, then looked in 
astonishment at the blue heavens, as if he were sur- 
prised at the color. A smile broke over his flushed 
face; he closed his eyes — and consciousness was gone. 


^4 


XVIII 


Herr Fortunat did not mention the occurrence of 
that day at dinner, during which little was said, and 
Madam Fortunat, who seemed to have forgotten Jo- 
^lePs existence, did not allude to it by so much as a 
word. When he rose from the table, however, Herr 
Fortunat said to his son: 

“Expect me in your room at ten o^ clock.” 

It was almost the appointed hour. Jonel, who had 
been sitting at the window in the dark, thinking, 
struck a light and looked at his watch; it still wanted 
a few minutes of ten; then he heard steps. The door 
opened, his father entered, he silently pressed JonePs 
hand and sank into an easy-chair. 

For awhile not a word was spoken. 

ju know, Jonel,” began Herr Fortunat, “that my 
fate hangs upon the result of that suit with the farm- 
ers; it was therefore a heavy blow to me when I heard 
that you had placed yourself at their head, agitated 
them and worked against my interests which are also 
yours; but what pains me the most is that the respect 
which you owe your step-mother — ” 

“I should like,” interrupted Jonel, “to avoid all 
discussion on that subject, for we should not agree; 
I know very well that after what took place to-day, 

I can no longer live under the same roof with my 

210 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


211 


step mother; I have therefore determined to go to 
Bucharest to-morrow, if you approve of it; I will 
work and make a position for myself. I have been 
a burden to you long enough; I must now try to earn 
my own bread.” 

He uttered these words hastily, turned, stepped to 
the window, and looked out into the night. Herr 
Fortunat arose, laid his hand on JonePs shoulder and 
said gently: 

“You must not leave me, Jonel; you know how un* 
happy I am. Do you too wish to embitter my life? 
Morover, all might yet end well, if you were not so 
silly. I would be willing to make a compromise which 
would satisfy the farmers, if you would help me out 
of my present difficulties; and you can do it. I have 
cause to suspect that Herr and Madame Dobrescu 
would gladly receive you as a suitor for their daugh- 
ter’s hand; the girl is wealthy; she will have, as you 
know, one-half of Bogdanesti and thirty-thousand 
ducats in cash as a dowry, of which you would have 
control; with a third of that you could save me. 
Well, what do you think, Jonel?” 

Jonel looked into his father’s haggard face; he was 
deeply moved. 

“I accede to your wishes,” murmured he. 

Herr Fortunat drew Jonel to him and kissed his 
lips. 

“Ah, pah,” laughed he, “Fraulein Pia. isafine girl; 
I am convinced that you will fall in love with her, if 
you are not already!” 

Jonel did not seem to have heard those words. 


213 


JOI^EL FORT UN AT 


“Father,” said he with a peculiar gravity, “I have 
a question to ask you: Madame Fortunat whispered 
some enigmatical words to me to-day, which give 
me no peace. Who was my mother? Was she really 
a Jewess?” 

Herr Fortunat paced the room awhile, then stood 
still. “I have expected your question,” said he, “and 
I will answer it; but it is a long and a sad story, 
and we must be seated. It is a long, sad story,” re- 
peated he; “you will read a sorrowful page in my life. 
But you are old enough; I owe you an explanation, 
and when you have heard it, perhaps you will judge 
your step-mother less harshly; you must summon up 
all your filial affection, Jonel, so as not to censure me 
too severely, for I have done wrong and caused much 
suffering.” 

He paused, looked at Jone{, and a melancholy smile 
hovered about his mouth. “How much you resemble 
her!” murmured he; “the same wonderfully bright eyes, 
the same soft hair and the same mouth! Jonel,” came 
quickly from his lips, “your mother was indeed a 
Jewess, Zilibi’s sister!” 

He drew a deep breath, as if with that confession 
a heavy load had been lifted from his breast. Jonel 
sat there silently. He had raised his head a little, 
and a slight color passed over his pale face. 

“A Jewess, really a Jewess!” cried he, “a Jewess and 
Zilibi’s sister — the Jewish peddler and Jester? Then 
Lea is my cousin; that is fine — fine! ” He laughed 
shortly, spasmodically; it sounded more like a sob 
than a laugh; then he leaned his elbows upon the 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


213 


table, supported his head upon his hands, and looked 
at his father gloomily. 

“A Jewess,” continued he, as if speaking to him- 
self, “my mother a Jewess and I the nephew of Lea’s 
father — that is comical, very comical. Do you know, 
father, that years ago when I was a boy, I detested 
the Jews, used to beat the Jewish boys, and raved over 
Mihai the Brave and Stefan the Great, and longed to 
be a hero too — I — Zilibi Psantir’s nephew! But how 
did it all happen?” 

“I will tell you. ” 

Herr Fortunat nervously rolled a cigarette, lit it, 
and began his story. He spoke in' a low voice, he 
described with terrible clearness his youthful indiscre- 
tions; told that before he was thirty he had fallen in 
his own and the world’s estimation ; that he was phys- 
ically and morally bankrupt; that following Madame- 
Falutza’s adv^ ^ rather than the dictates of his own 
heart, and principally to save his mortgaged estate, 
he had engaged himself to Fraulein Notara; that a 
week before' his wedding day, as he chanced to call 
upon a Jewish banker, he met Zilibi’s sister, and that 
this meeting determined his whole life. 

“You are now at the age, Jonel,” continued he, 
“when the heart is most susceptible to female beauty; 
look at this picture.” He drew from his pocket a 
golden medallion, pressed a spring and handed it to 
Jonel. “Look at this picture; it is your mother’s! ’ 

Jonel seized the medallion, looked at it awhile, 
then laid it on the table, and passed his hand over his 
eyes. He listened silently, motionlessly to his father’s 


214 


JOI^EL FORTUhlAT 


story; only when the latter concluded his long con- 
fession with the words: "I have adopted you legally,” 
a bitter smile passed over his face. He arose and 
said absently: “My brain is confused, father; 1 
should like to be alone. Good night!” He held out 
his hand. 

“Shall you go to Bucharest?” asked Herr Fortunat 
from the door. 

“Yes, yes; to-day — to-morrow, if you like!” 

The door closed. 

Jonel listened until the footsteps died away, then 
he threw himself into a chair, took up the locket and 
gazed at the picture long and earnestly, then he leaned 
his head back and closed his eyes; he breathed shortly 
and quickly; the picture was impressed upon his mind, 
and the features of the same became animated, they 
hovered before him almost life-like: a handsome, pale 
woman with flashing eyes looked down upon him with 
unspeakably melancholy tenderness. And as he looked 
into those eyes, he felt as if the sadness which op- 
pressed him vanished, as if the contraction about his 
heart relaxed, as if from his tortured breast came a 
sweet, redeeming word, and suddenly a wild, moaning 
sound rang in his ears: “Mother, mother!” 

He sprang up. Had he uttered the words himself 
or had he heard them spoken? He did not know. It 
was close in his room; he opened the window, and 
listened as in a dream to the rustling of the trees in 
the park, through which a . gentle breeze whispered. 
Then suddenly the thought possessed him: 

“I will seek out Zilibi Psantir at once; he shall tell 
me about my mother.” 


JONEL JFORTUNAT 


215 


He extinguished the light and left the room. 

Over the heavens flew great, black clouds in v^hich 
the moon played hide-and-seek — now the silver disk 
shone forth full and bright, now she disappeared, and 
the broad plain was enveloped in darkness. As if im- 
pelled by some invisible power, Jonel hurried along 
the chaussee, which led from the castle to Banesti. 
When he arrived at the little village, he stopped; 
the cocks were crowing; it was long after midnight. 

As he hastened along, he suddenly heard the tones 
of a violin, coming from the cottage in which Zilibi 
Psantir lived. Zilibi stood in the center of the pov- 
erty-stricken room, the window of which was open^ 
and upon his face which was furrowed with care, danced 
the flickering light of the end of a wax-caijdle, which 
was stuck in a tin candle-stick. His head was bowed 
and his eyes half-closed, while his chin rested upon 
the fiddle over whose strings the bow passed slowly 
and heavily. 

It was a peculiar melody that he was playing, mourn- 
ful, sad and sorrowful, and it moved Jonel, who had 
stopped at the window, deeply. Then Zilibi opened 
his eyes, and they began to glow and sparkle; he 
shook his small head with an ecstatic smile, as if he 
heard something wonderfully sweet. Suddenly his 
short figure was drawn up as if by electricity; the 
melody changed, the bow flew swiftly over the strings 
and the tones brought out were joyous — merry! Jonel 
lifted the latch and entered the room. At the sight 
of him, Zilibi stopped playing, but he was not startled; 
his eyes did not even express surprise at this late 


216 JO>lEL FORJV^AT 

visit. He dropped his violin and laughed softly to 
himself. 

“What I just played,” said he, “was a queer medley, 
was it not? I put together Roumanian, Hebrew and 
Hungarian melodies, and then plunged into my own 
heart and what I brought out I added to the others — 
and it made a wonderful whole, and when I play it, 
something in me laughs and weeps. Did you hear 
the laughter and weeping? The laughter was as clear 
as a child’s. My Lea used to laugh so years ago — 
many, many years; and that laughter whon I hear it, 
cuts me to the heart, and my violin begins to weep 
and sigh, to whimper and laugh, for my fiddle is a good, 
faithful soul. She pities an old man whose child is 
dead — my Lea is dead, did you know it, Jonel? And 
because I cannot conquer my grief, I do as the others; 
I drink — oh! to-day I drank a great deal of wine and 
whisky! Will you drink too, Jonel?” asked he, smil- 
ing feebly. 

‘T will not drink,’ said Jonel, “and as far as your 
Lea is concerned, she is alive; oh, she is alive and 
laughs and is a lovely, a wealthy and a happy wife! 
But your sister, Zilibi,” he added, approaching the 
little man, “you have forgotten. And yet she was so 
lovely, though she must have been very wretched and 
unhappy, for she died so young; tell me about her, 
Zilibi, tell me of my mother!” 

“Your mother,” said the Jew, looking at Jonel in 
amazement. 

“Your mother?” repeated he thoughtfully; “has he 
at last told you who your mother was, how she died. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


21 . 


why she died? Has he told you that he made a poor 
Jewess miserable and unhappy; that she seized a re- 
volver and sent a bullet through her brain in order to 
escape disgrace? Has he told you that his whip de- 
scended upon my back when I came to him and asked 
him for my sister? That was comical, was it not? 
A story to laugh and weep over! I have not forgotten 
it, Jonel, oh no! ” 

He gazed into space after saying that. 

“Does your Lea know all this?” asked Jonel. 

“She knows nothing about it,” replied Zilibi. “She 
does not know of the sorrow I have carried about with 
me for years; she does not know of the glowing hatred 
which for years has consumed my soul — the hatred of 
your father, Jonel; but now my hatred has vanished. 
I hate no one, I love no one: I have no feeling left. 
Great God!” he added in broken accents, “what a 
world this is ! ” 

A hollow, sobbing sound escaped his troubled breast; 
he broke down; the violin fell from his hand; he did 
not pick it up. The light flickered once more and 
then went out. The clouds had disappeared and the 
moon shone into the room clear and bright. Zilibi 
raised his head, and looked long and searchingly at 
Jonel; his eyes lost their perplexed expression; he 
seized JonePs hand. 

“It is a sad world,” said he and his voice sounded 
low and melancholy, “a sad world, my poor child, and 
one might doubt it and God, if occasionally one did 
not come across a noble heart. You have such a heart, 
Jonel; I discovered it with proud delight to-day when 


218 


lONEL FORTUN^T 


you so manfully defended the poor Jew; it was your 
mother^ s heart that arose within you, and I have 
thought all sorts of things about it. I told myself 
that our God is not the God of vengeance, as our 
scriptures teach us; he does not punish the children 
for the sins of their parents. Your poor mother’s sin 
she atoned for by her death; your father’s sin against 
her he has also atoned for; he is an unhappy man; 
all is forgiven and forgotten. 

“And from the ashes of that sin a noble plant has 
sprung,” he continued in a louder voice, “and it will 
grow and become a fine tree! Be good, Jonel! Do 
not forget your origin; do not forget that for two 
thousand years the Jews have shed hot tears; dry 
those tears, Jonel, where and when you can; and now 
come, we will pray at your unfortunate mother’s grave. ” 

A quarter of an hour later they were in the castle 
park. As they stood upon the roundel before the 
chapel, a star shot across the heavens. 

“Here next this statue, under this stone,” began 
Zilibi, “lie the remains of my poor sister; leaning 
against this statue, I have often wept and prayed. 
Do not look at me so incredulously, Jonel; I know 
what I aifi talking about. You are standing at your 
mother’s grave. Once, years ago, I begged your father 
to give me my sister’s remains that I might inter them 
in the Jewish cemetery; he would not consent, and 
perhaps it is just as well that you should have the 
grave of the unhappy woman who gave you birth con- 
tinually before 3^our eyes. Pray for her soul.” 

Jonel sank upon his knees; he clung to the cold. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


219 


white marble, kissed it and sobbed over it; when after 
some time he arose, Zilibi had vanished. He hurried 
to his room, threw himself dressed upon his bed, and 
closed his eyes, but he could not sleep: perplexing, 
shadowy forms haunted him, and he could hear the 
scraping of a fiddle, the humming of a bass-viol, and 
the shrill tones of a flute. There was a confusion of 
tones, as if musicians were tuning their instruments, 
but suddenly from amongst this confusion arose a mel- 
ody which sounded strangely joyful, and it was pleas- 
ant to see how Zilibi’ s eyes sparkled and danced, 
how he drew his bow over the strings, shook his head, 
and his pointed beard flew back and forth. When 
had Zilibi played so, laughed so, or shaken his head 
in such a way? Not that day, no, but years ago, many 
years ago, when he, surrounded by his musicians, stood 
upon an estrade in the large saloon of the castle and 
enlivened the guests by his gay manner, his wonder- 
ful music, and his comical talk as they sat at the 
festive board and drank the health of the newly mar- 
ried pair. 

And he, Jonel, stood on the balcony and looked at 
his father; his heart was heavy; he felt like weeping 
as he saw the lovely, beaming woman who was his 
mother; next him, upon her chair, sat Florica, and at 
her feet cowered a girl with blue-black hair and burn- 
ing eyes. They both looked at him while he related 
a wonderful story. What story was it? Ah, yes, the 
story of Mihai the Brave, the noble hero, whose life 
was destroyed by a murderer’s hand. And his heart 
had beat with blissful pride to think that such a hero 


220 


JOhJEL FORT UN AT 


had lived, and he had hoped that when he was a man 
he would be a hero like Mihai the Brave. 

If anyone had told him at that time that the jesting 
Jew was his mother’s brother, that he was the child 
of a Jewess, like all the Jewish boys of Banesti, whom 
he loathed! 

“The child of a Jewess,” he heard a deep voice say; 
“what difference does that make? The people may not 
like it generally; but you, with your kind heart, dear 
boy, what do you care about it? The child of a Jew- 
ess? Absurd! Everyone is the child of his own deeds; 
mark that, Jonel!” 

The voice that uttered these words, trembled with 
emotion — it was Brunner’s voice, the poor German 
tutor’s, with the fair waving beard, the shining bald 
head, and the kindly blue eyes. Thus would his for- 
mer tutor surely have thought, have spoken; but he 
lay now in the cold ground, far from his home which 
he loved so well. Ah, if one could lie with him, or 
could at least go through life with one’s breast pro- 
tected against all the sorrows and trials of existence! 

“Great God, what a world this is! ’ Zilibi had 
cried, and there was bitter truth in his words. 

“What a world this is, in which the people hate one 
another because each one worships God in his own 
way — in which love, which should be the source of 
all happiness, becomes a demon which rends the breast! 
What a world this is, which presses the weapon into 
the hand of a young, lovely woman; what a world 
this is in which justice is trampled under foot by those 
whose calling it is to uphold it; what a world this is, 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


221 


in which a sweet creature like Florica is doomed to die 
in the bloom of her youth! Where are the happy ones 
in the midst of these thousand-fold anxieties?” asked 
he. 

And at that question all the images that filled his 
brain arose, and passed silently before him; he looked 
at them closely as if he wished to read what was pass- 
ing within them from their eyes. From amongst 
them stood out two forms, Pia’s and Lea’s. They 
were both so lovely, each in her own way; it seemed 
to him as if he were sitting at Pia’s feet; that she 
was bending over him, so low that her loose, golden 
hair fell about him; that her breath touched his 
cheeks; and he looked in her eyes which were as 
unfathomable as the blue skies upon a warm, summer’s 
day, and in them lay an unspeakable sadness — and 
an unspeakable sadness lurked about the corners of her 
mouth, and trembled in the sweet, silvery tones of her 
voice, as she asked him softly: "Do you love me?” 

He did not answer, for there in the magnificent 
saloon, under the sparkling chandelier, stood the 
other, stood Lea — a large, fine woman with a bridal 
wreath upon her brow. She said nothing, she asked 
nothing, but she gazed at him with longing glances; 
he saw her bosom rise and fall; he sprang up, drew 
her toward him and kissed her in sweet, wild delir- 
ium ! 

Then he heard Tschukee call out: “Lovely, laughing, 
loving women!” And Zilibi stood upon an estrade, 
behind the musicians playing a lively dance, shaking 
his head and crying merrily: “Dance, children, dance!” 


222 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


They danced and the guests applauded; champagne 
corks flew; they drank and made merry, and from the 
adjoining room came the sounds of the clinking of 
money. 

Suddenly Lea was torn from his arms. Valsaimaki 
stood before him with distorted features and terrible 
eyes, and cried : 

“My bride, my wife, my Lea!” 

And Lea, weeping, hid her face upon the breast of 
the ghastly, pale old man, and the saloon was very 
quiet. 

The noise, the music, the people, all seemed to 
have been spirited away; the lights went out. Dark 
night came upon him, and through the darkness, he 
heard a voice moan: “Great God, what a world this 
is!” 

Jonel drew a deep breath and passed his hand over 
his cold brow, as if he wished to exorcise some evil 
spirit; he opened his eyes, the morning star was bright 
in the heavens, and dawn was breaking. 


XIX 


It was six o’clock on a raw October afternoon, a 
drizzling, cold rain was falling. On the streets of 
the residence, where several gas-jets, enveloped in 
smoke and fog, glimmered miserably, only a few 
pedestrians were to be seen, and they hurried shiver- 
ing along in order to reach their homes as quickly as 
possible. 

"If I were a poet," said Herr Pantasi Tschukee, 
who stood at the window of his well-warmed study, and 
looked up at the starless skies, "if I were a poet, I 
should be. obliged to write an ode to autumn, and 
make all manner of allusions to death and decay. 
What a pity it is that I am no poet!" He turned, 
walked to the stove in which crackled several logs of 
wood, and looked into the flames. 

"It is a pity that I am no poet," repeated he; if 
Apollo had kissed my mouth I would touch the strings 
of my lyre and allure all the women. The women," 
continued he, with a smile, "that is a general term, 
and would not suit me. I prefer special individuals 
— as, for example, you, gracious Madame Lea Valsa- 
maki. Yes, if I were a poet, and could compose a 
whole ocean of sonnets to your fathomless black eyes, 
you would perhaps have a little pity upon the poor 
humpback — you would perhaps — who knows?" 

223 


224 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


He laughed softly to himself, stepped to a pier 
glass near the window and examined his form closely, 
as closely as if he had never seen it until that day. He 
looked ver}^ comical, very grotesque. His small, de- 
formed figure was clad in a gay Turkish dressing-gown; 
upon his large, shaven head sat a fez, and in his right 
hand he held a long “tschibuk, ” with an amber mouth 
piece. His face had lost its former fullness, so that 
his cheek-bones were very prominent and the lines 
about his mouth seemed deeper. Only his black eyes 
were as spirited as ever; he looked at them a long 
time, gloomily, and his face grew very grave, almost 
dark, while two deep wrinkles furrowed his high fore- 
head. 

“Poor Pantasi, “ said he, harshly, “do not be a fool! 
where in the world would you find a woman who could 
look at your distorted features without horror ; did not 
that lesson suffice you when the girl whom you raised 
from a degraded position, left you after a few weeks, 
disgusted with you? And you still trust to some 
miracle? You even dare to hope that such a woman 
as Lea would kiss you of her own accord? Absurd! “ 

He shook his head, threw himself into a chair be- 
fore his escritoire, put the amber mouth-piece between 
his lips, drew a deep breath, and puffed out the smoke 
in innumerable rings. He looked thoughtfully at the 
clouds of smoke as they vanished; and as he looked, it 
seemed to him as if from the clouds arose Lea’s 
head. He saw her pale face with its fiery eyes, and 
the expression of sadness about its rosy mouth, as he 
had seen her on her wedding-eve, when her gaze was 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


225 


fixed with a peculiar expression upon the corner of 
the room where Jonel stood next Fraulein Pia 
Dobrescu. 

"The dull, silly fellow," murmured he, "does not 
seem even to suspect that he might be happy if he 
only would!" 

He rose, went to the bookcase, which extended 
almost the entire length of one side of the room, 
opened the glass door, and his eyes glanced at the 
titles upon the philosophical works and works on the 
subject of law which filled the case; then he stood 
upon tiptoe, reached up his right arm and drew out 
a thick volume, after which exertion he sank into his 
chair again, turned over the pages awhile, and then 
began to read ; he read Schopenhauer’s celebrated 
• Treatise on Woijien, and the bold, coarse expressions 
of the Frankfort man-of-the-world seemed to please 
Herr Pantasi Tschukee, for he smih d knowingly, and 
whenever he came to a passage which emphasized the 
woman-haters’ sentiments he stroked his chin, and 
expressed his approbation by loud cries of "Bravo!" 

He was so deep in his book that he had not heard 
a knock at the door. 

Jonel had entered and stopped at the door, admiring 
the lofty, tastefully furnished room, which was lighted 
by wax candles, and which reminded one in no way of 
a lawyer’s sanctum. The dark red velvet furniture, 
the heavy damask curtains at the windows, the soft 
rugs upon the polished floor, the handsome bookcases, 
the pier glasses, the charming statuettes upon marble 
tables, the paintings upon the tapestried walls, the 
15 


226 


JOt^EL FOR TUN AT 


plants upon an artistically carved table, all gave 
evidence that Herr Tschukee, although he enjoyed 
reading Schopenhauer, knew how to make his home 
comfortable and artistic. 

Jonel drew near the table and laid his hand upon 
the lawyer’s red fez. 

Herr Tschukee sprang up. 

“Lupus in fabula!” cried he laughing, grasping 
JonePs right hand; “I was just thinking of you, but 
did not expect that you would arrive until to-mor- 
row ! “ 

“Did you not receive my father’s letter?” 

“Certainly, certainly, my Telemachus, he conjured 
me to be a faithful mentor to you, and I shall be, up- 
on my honor. But now I beg of you, make yourself 
comfortable. Lay off your overcoat, and now draw ^ 
your chair nearer mine; and please tell me which you 
would prefer, a glass of wine or a cup of coffee? If 
you have not dined, you can have dinner served in five 
minutes! ” 

“Thank you, dear Herr Tschukee,” said Jonel, “1 
just dined at the Hotel de Paris where I put up. I 
therefore beg of you not to trouble yourself.” 

“Ah, pah,” cried Herr Tschukee, “a Roumanian 
patriot ought always feel inclined to drink a glass of 
wine, and in such miserable weather one should feel 
doubly inclined to drink!” 

He rang a little silver bell which lay upon a table, 
and bade the servant who entered, bring a bottle of 
wine and two glasses. Soon after they were placed 
upon the table. Herr Tschukee filled them both. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


227 


“Your very good health, my young friend!” cried 
the humpback merrily. They clinked glasses; Herr 
Pantasi Tschukee held his to the right and looked 
with the air of a connoisseur at the golden yellow con- 
tents, then he emptied it at one draught, and cried, 
smacking his lips: 

“We certainly have fine wine and fine women! In 
both of these articles we can hold our own against the 
most civilized country! More about that anon; now 
let us speak of more important matters: how are 
things at Banesti?” 

“Not very flourishing,” said Jonel, sadly; “poor 
Florica is very ill. My father is worried. Suspense 
at the result of the suit, on the one hand, and the 
terrible worry occasioned him by the thought that the 
time which Banker Grunspecht fixed is drawing near, 
have shattered his nerves. He is very miserable. As 
far as my step-mother is concerned, you know Ma- 
dame Fortunat, Herr Tschukee.” 

“Oh, I know her!” cried Herr Tschukee, “a fine 
woman, full of life, and well-preserved for her age; 
and what wonderful dark blue eyes she has A woman 
with a nature like Catherine II. ; your step-mother, dear 
friend, only lacks the stage upon which to prove her 
talent. At Banesti her genius does not have full play, 
and it is a pity! I like such women, Jonel; there is 
mettle in them! And what sort of women, my Tele- 
machus,” added he, laughing, “do you admire, if one 
may ask such a question?” 

He refilled his glass. 

“Pardon me,” said Jonel with a faint smile, “if I 


228 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


leave your question unanswered; my heart is so heavy 
that I cannot enter into your jovial mood.” 

Tschukee looked at him steadily. 

“So young, so handsome, so healthy, and gifted by 
nature with such straight, stout limbs and such fine 
eyes; and at the same time so melancholy, and the 
heart filled with such Byronic sorrow! I’ll wager you 
are in love — you are indeed; do not deny it! I can 
see it by your pale cheeks; I can read it in the mourn- 
ful brilliance of your eyes — well, out with it, who is 
the happy girl?”” 

Jonel blushed. 

“It seems my father has not written you,” said he, 
bitterly, “that I am here fortune-hunting, and n ust 
therefore strive to fall in love with Fraulein Pia 
Dobrescu. ” 

"And that mission,” laughed Herr Tschukee, “lays 
upon your heart like a veritable mountain and makes 
you sad, sir Hamlet! If I were in your place, I should 
not only strive for the love and the hand of Fraulein 
Dobrescu, but should also try to conquer the heart of 
another lady — of that lady whose eyes are so like yours 
— in a word, the heart of charming Madame Valsamaki, 
who, if I am not much mistaken, would meet you half- 
way — ” 

“Herr Tschukee!” cried Jonel — he sprang up, his 
face was deathly pale and he looked at the lawyer with 
glowing eyes, but only a few seconds, then he again 
sank into his chair. 

The humpback looked searchingly into JonePs face, 
which was working with emotion. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


229 


“I do not understand you, ’’said he, “I therefore beg 
of you to give me an explanation. What ' distresses 
you?” 

Jonel did not reply.. 

“If you do not speak out,” continued the humpback, 
“you may depend upon it that I shall form my own 
opinion. You have, dear friend, no plausible excuse, 
certainly, for being misera])le and for anticipating 
evil; the trouble that your father is in at present will 
soon be settled, for I do not believe that the verdict 
will be annulled; although I know that your moral 
sense revolts at the thought of an injustice. You are as 
innocent in the whole matter as anew born babe, and 
it is a great pity for you to allow one hair to turn 
gray on that account. That should surely not worry 
you. Should you feel sad because you propose calling 
such a fine girl as Fraulein Pia Dobrescu with all the 
property she possesses yours? That seems to me 
highly improbable: you have warm blood in your 
veins, you young dreamer, and it would be strange 
were it not agitated when the sweet thought of 
winning Pia passes through your mind! I must 
therefore turn my psychological probe into another 
channel, if I wish an explanation of your melancholy 
and your irritability.” 

Herr Tschukee rose, walked thoughtfully up and 
down the icom, and stopped before Jonel: 

“There only remains one more cause: you are un- 
happy in your love. I do not presume to say that 
such an Adonis would sue in vain — in other words — 
that your love was not requited. There must be some 


230 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


other reason — the object of your love is, for instance, 
a married woman? ” 

At these words Jonel started. 

”We were then upon the right track!*’ simpered 
Tschukee; “a married woman, let us say Madame 
Valsamaki. ” 

Jonel stared fixedly at the humpback, who with a 
smile about his wide mouth rubbed his hands. 

“I admire your penetration,” escaped JonePs lips, 
”but you are using it in vain, and I will tell you can 
didly why : Even were your suspicions correct, the 
pain which arises from an unhappy love would only 
form a small part of that sorrow which now fills my 
soul. I feel very wretched, Herr Tschukee, ” added he 
brokenly, ”1 am disgusted with everything and tired 
of life.” 

The humpback grasped his hand, which trembled 
violently, while his eyes sparkled feverishly. 

"You are tired of life?” said Tschukee, and that time 
his voice took a gentle tone; “that is imagination, 
child. You do not know what life is yet, young sir! 
I do not wish to force myself into your confidence, 
and will asssume that a heavy sorrow at present does 
not present life to you in that rosy hue in which it 
should appear to your youthful eyes; and that it is so, 
pleases me very much, for I hate those crafty, satiated 
optimists who only see pomp and frivolity in the world. 
You look at me in surprise? That seems to be direct 
contradiction of what I have always said to you, and 
it is. Do you know this author?” He laid his hand 
upon the book lying before him. "Do you know 
Schopenhauer?" 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


231 


“I have read some of his works,” said Jonel. 

“The onl}^ German philosopher that I like, “ contin- 
ued Tschukee, “for he does not wander in the dream 
land of dim theories, but with open eyes amongst us 
miserable mortals, looks into each one’s heart and 
mind, and unsparingly discloses the entire misery of 
mankind, which others try to conceal by gay patches; 
he is my man! He only can understand him who car- 
ries about a hump upon his back as I do — but unfort- 
unately there are so few humpbacks in this world! 
You too have a small load upon your mind, have you 
not? That is well, for then my teaching will fall upon 
fertile soil; this evening for your good I will raise an 
end of the veil of the Mistress of Sais. Are you pre- 
pared to follow me? You must know that my teach- 
ing depends upon intuition; I will prove my theories 
to you. Will you go with me a while to night, dear 
Jonel?” 

“I am ready,” said Jonel rising. 

“Wait for me here a few minutes. I wish to 
change my dress somewhat.” 


XX 


“The Paradise” — such was the name given to the 
music hall which half an hour later Herr Pantasi 
Tschukee and Jonel entered. It was a rectangular, 
srcoky room in which, every evening, performances 
were given; the “star” of the company was a trapeze- 
acrobat, a Miss Alma, byname, who had not only won 
the favor of the young and old frequenters of that 
place by her wonderful gymnastic feats, but also by 
the classical beauty of her form. The manager of 
that international company, who was the proprietor of 
the hall as well, was in raptures. Such an aristocratic 
assemblage as that which for a week — that is, since 
Miss Alma’s appearance— had filled the hall, the “Par- 
adise” had not been able to attract for a long time. 
The flower of the jeunesse doree, lawyers, judges, 
officers, attaches, were present upon that special even- 
ing, and vied with one another in applauding the ar- 
tiste, who acknowledged their applause by wafting 
kisses from the tips of her fingers. 

When the humpback and Jonel entered the hall, 
Miss Alma had just finished one of her finest feats; 
a storm of applause resounded through the hall; the 
artiste kissed her hands, slid rapidly from the rope 
to the stage, bowed several times, then vanished be- 
hind the scenes, but soon reappeared, and began to 

232 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


233 


mix with the audience in a free-and-easy manner, 
greeting an acquaintance now here, now there, laugh- 
ing and jesting, until at length she reached the corner 
of the hall in which Jonel and Pantasi Tschukee 
were seated. 

“Papa Pantasi,” cried she, in a voice which be- 
trayed an intimate acquaintance with Herr Tschukee, 
“how did I please you?” 

The humpback sprang up — his pale face flushed — he 
laid his hand familiarly upon her round arm and said: 

“First-rate, as always, loveliest girl! Will you not 
take a seat here for a few minutes?” 

Miss Alma cast a hasty side glance at Jonel. 

“I cannot, papa,” laughed she, showing two rows 
of dazzlingly white teeth; “a small compan3MS await- 
ing me in the adjoining room. I shall not perform 
any more to day — I am not disposed to; I should be 
delighted if you would join us in the other room 
where you will find some friends, and do not forget 
to bring that young bear, your friend there, with 
you!” 

She slapped the humpback upon his shoulder, 
turned upon her heel and left the hall, followed by 
hearty applause. 

“Still silent and sad, my young friend?” Tschukee 
turned to Jonel. 

“It is very close here,” said Jonel; “I cannot un- 
derstand how these people can exist for so many hours 
in this atmosphere, all for the sake of a few silly 
chansonettes and an acrobat v^ho has in readiness for 
each one if he will only treat to a supper or present 


234 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


her with some jewel, the same stereotyped smile, the 
same languishing glance.” 

‘‘And what would you say, dear Jonel, were I to 
tell you that while the educated men of our city are 
applauding the feats of this lovely girl, in our nation- 
al theater, the expense of which is a fabulous sum 
annually, they are playing to half-empty benches? And 
there they produce classical plays — Shakspeare, in 
fact ! ” 

“It is sad, Herr Tschukee — ” 

“And all those fine gilded youths and those old, 
exquisite, pomaded and perfumed roues rave over na- 
tional art and regret at every opportunity that it does 
not progress — that it bears no fruit; but those are 
people in general — in the abstract. I will show you 
individuals in the flesh. Come!” 

He conducted Jonel through the hall into a small, 
elegantly furnished room, in which, about a round 
marble table upon which stood glasses filled with 
champagne, sat Miss Alma and three gentlemen; as 
the door opened, the latter arose and greeted Herr 
Tschukee noisily. 

“You, Herr Dobrescu, and you, my dear Prefect Al- 
dean, ” laughed Herr Tschukee, “have already had the 
pleasure of meeting my friend whom, as formerly Virgil 
did Dante, I now serve in the capacity of cicerone in a 
hell, which bears the euphonious name of 'Paradise/ 
it only remains for me to introduce my young friend 
to you.” He turned to an old man of about fifty, care- 
lessly dressed, with gold spectacles upon his large nose, 
and a bald head: “Herr^Culianu, our clever journal- 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


235 


ist, who knows how to write and speak of everything 
imaginable and more besides, and my Telemachus, 
Jonel Fortunat, doctor juris, and a future light of our 
bar!" 

Herr Culianu pressed JonePs hand and expressed 
his pleasure at meeting the son of Herr Demeter For- 
tunat, with whom some twenty years before he had 
spent many an enjoyable evening. 

The prefect, Herr Aldean, likewise greeted Jonel 
very cordially, and remarked with a sweet smile as 
he played with the charms upon his heavy gold watch 
chain: 

"It may seem somewhat strange to you to find me 
in such frivolous company, but when one has the 
golden age of youth behind one — you see, riiy hair is 
already tinged with gray — one feels it necessary to 
dispel the prosaic monotony of everyday life with its 
cares, by spending a few hours in happy unconstraint 
with women, wine and song. One fancies oneself young 
again — one deceives oneself," he added softly, "but 
it is sweet deception." 

The prefect, who entertained thoughts of retiring 
from the service of the state and of applying for a 
seat in the chamber of deputies, had for some time 
been exercising his oratorical talents and endeavoring 
to cause a sensation by his elegant, well chosen sen- 
tences in which attempts he had not always succeeded. 
But upon that especial occasion he had, and his delight 
was visible in the condescending, patronizing glances 
which he cast upon Jonel, who felt very uncomfortable 
in that society, and more especially so owing to the 


236 


JOhlEL FORTUhlAT 


presence of Herr Dobrescu. Herr Dobrescu, on the 
other hand, seemed in his element; he had, whilst the 
others surrounded Jonel, embraced the opportunity 
to press two kisses upon the acrobat’s arm, where- 
upon he cried laughing: 

“That you, sir prefect, deem it necessary to apolo- 
gize for your presence in this temple of the muses 
may have good reason, one of which is this, that only 
a few months since you married a young, lovely little 
woman, who at the present time is dying of ennui 
in the provincial town in which she lives, while her 
husband is trying to make himself believe in ‘Paradise’ 
that he is still young; but I,“ continued he, with dim 
eyes, “do not excuse my presence here, although I have 
been married twenty-five years, five months and two 
weeks, and am the father of a marriageable daughter. 
The presence of such a charming creature as Miss 
Alma explains and excuses everything. 

“I love you, beautiful child,” he added, enthusias- 
tically, seized a champagne glass, emptied it, fell upon 
his knees before the acrobat and looked languishingly 
into her face. 

Miss Alma laughed aloud; her laughter was conta- 
gious; all laughed, but the humpback’s shrill laughter 
rang out the loudest. 

“Ergo bibamus!” cried Herr Tschukee, clapping 
his hands and refilling the champagne glasses. “And 
you, too, my virtuous Tannhauser, you must drink 
with us, laugh and make merry. You are upon the 
Horselberg with the arch-fiend Venus — no struggling 
will avail you, you cannot escape her. Just look at 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


337 


that woman closely, Jonel ; is she not a masterpiece 
of our Almighty’s! How full of life and health she 
is! And those round arms, that alabaster neck, that 
luxuriant golden hair— and those eyes, Jonel, those 
eyes! Kiss her, German visionary; you are not the 
first and will not be the last; and if it seem a sin 
to you to embrace so sinful a creature, I pardon you 
in the name of Schopenhauer, who surely would not 
be so silly were he sitting in our midst. Kiss her, 
Jonel.” 

“Kiss her! “-cried Herr Culianu and the prefect, “and 
we will then follow your example!” 

“Kiss her, you child!” cried Herr Dobrescu, seriously 
angry. 

Jonel emptied his glass at one draught, but he did 
not stir from the spot. Suddenly he felt himself 
encircled by the acrobat’s arms and a warm kiss 
burned upon his lips. Echoing laughter and applause 
followed. 

“Bravo, bravo!” resounded. 

“If the mountain will not go to Mohammed, Mo- 
hammed will go to the mountain!” laughed Tschukee, 
whose face was very much flushed. “You did that 
well, sweet pearl of Britannia! And now let us drink 
the health of this young lady, who, by the voluntary 
kiss which she gave Jonel, and by the affection she 
often manifests for us elderly men, shows that next to 
youth, which has no other merit than that it is strong, 
full of life and simple, she knows how to value the 
sense in the bald head of our friend, Culianu, the or- 
atorical talent of our mature and worthv Prefect AI- 


238 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


dean, the extravagances of our fifty-five year old, 
amorous dotard, Dobrescu, and the passion in the 
humpback of my humble self; her health!” 

They clinked glasses, the merriment of the others 
began to infect Jonel, and when Calianu seated him- 
self at the piano which stood in a corner of the room, 
ran his fingers over the keys and played several chords 
as a prelude to a dance of his own composition, JoneP s 
heart began to feel light — his cheeks to glow. 

"Now you are on the right track,” cried Tschukee, 
who at once noticed the change; "now, dear Jonel, 
you will comprehend the truth of that sentence of 
Byron’s which says that life is only intoxication — only 
intoxication with the indisposition which follows — and 
if one at the banquet of life has the good fortune to 
find a cover laid and a full glass of champagne, a 
sweet intoxication. Ergo bibamus!” 

The glasses were again filled and emptied, the mirth 
of the company changed to excessive hilarity. Herr 
Culianu improvised upon the -piano; his fingers flew 
over the keys, and mighty accords resounded through 
the room. The prefect, with a very red face sat a- 
straddle a chair; in his right hand he held a cham- 
pagne bottle, while with his left hand he made all 
sorts of gestures, and carried on in an undertone a 
speech which he occasionally interrupted by a roar of 
laughter. 

The acrobat, lolling in an easy-chair, hummed an 
English ballad, and at the same time ogled Jonel, who 
sat opposite her, while Herr Dobrescu sat at her right 
and Herr Tschukee at her left. 


JOhlEL FORTUN^T 


239 


Herr Dobrescu seized her tiny right hand, kissed it 
passionately and whispered words of love in her ear. 
The glasses were filled and refilled. 

In proportion as the others became more noisy and 
boisterous, Jonel felt more sober; he drank mechan- 
ically, but the intoxication which began to seize hold 
upon him, did not have a freeing effect ; he wished 
to forget himself, to join in the general mirth, but 
he was not successful. The feeling of disgust which, 
upon entering that room, had possessed him, rose 
again within him and kept increasing. With a violent 
gesture he pushed his glass from him; he was about 
to leave those people whose conversation and actions 
made him blush, when his arm was suddenly seized by 
Herr Dobrescu, who drew him to one side into a 
niche. 

“My dear Jonel,” began he, smiling, “although my 
wife whom I respect for her many good qualities, has 
reserved the right of caring for the welfare and the 
future of my daughter, Pia, and in consequence con- 
ceals all her plans from me, yet I know that you, my 
dear friend, in a short while will be nearly related 
to me. I know it and give my blessing beforehand.” 

With pathetic gravity Herr Dobrescu laid his hand 
upon his head then he passed his left hand over his 
eyes as if to wipe away a tear of paternal emotion. 

“I love Pia very dearly,” he continued in a trem- 
bling voice; “but, as I have said, I am a worthless 
father.” 

Earlier in the evening he would not have made 
that remark, but, as he used those words every time 


240 


JONEL FORTUhAT 


that he wished to appease his wife, they escaped him 
involuntarily in his state of intoxication. 

“I am an unnatural father — a good-for-nothing fellow,” 
he continued emphatically, “but for all that I love my" 
daughter and respect my wife, if she is harsh and dis- 
agreeable at times! I honor and esteem her: yes I do! 
but nevertheless I must confess that it is not fair to 
cut off a man like me who once held such a high posi- 
tion in the state with a paltry hundred ducats a month; 
it is very unpleasant for a man of my.statusto have to 
borrow from strangers. But toward you as my son — 
I look upon you already as such and I beg of you to 
permit me to call you so — I feel no reserve, nor have 
I any secrets from you, but confess to you honestly 
that at the present time I am in just such a fix, and 
as I should like todnvite Fraulein Alma to a supper 
this evening, you can imagine how disagreeable it is; 

I need not assure you that in a very short time you 
will receive the ten napoleons which you will surely 
loan me if you happen to have them with you. That 
was what I wished to say, and I may add this,” con- 
tinued he with a sly wink of his eye, “ that you need 
fear no indiscretion on my part; if you intend to 
marry, I consider it a matter of course that you should 
spend the first evening — you arrived to day at the res- 
idence — of your arrival in merry company.- Moreover, 
‘Youth knows no virtue.’ 

Jonel listened calmly to that strange speech. At 
its conclusion he drew forth his purse and silently 
handed Herr Dobrescu the desired amount. 

Herr Dobrescu dropped the napoleons into his vest- 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


^A\ 

pocket, clasped Jonel roughly to his breast, and in a 
jiffy was at the side of the acrobat — whom in the 
meantime, the prefect had been amusing, to all ap- 
pearances, with success. For Miss Alma was in a merry 
mood; she laughed, clapped her tiny hands, pulled 
the prefect’s ears; threw bread pills at Herr Tschu- 
kee’s nose, and occasionally hummed a few bars of the 
waltz which Herr Culianu was playing upon the piano, 
while her small, black eyes roved restlessly about the 
circle and fixed themselves upon Jonel with a search- 
ing expression: Jonel, however, was not pleased at 
this preference. A deep disgust possessed him, of 
that woman who allowed those rogues to kiss her, of 
those four men who felt so contented, so happy in 
their intoxication, in the society of that coarse acro- 
bat. And that tipsy rake with his flushed and sunken 
cheeks, his dyed hair and trembling hands, was the 
father of the girl who had been chosen for his wife — 
Pia’s father! 

“Poor girl!” murmured he. He had seen her, had 
spoken to her for the first time at Lea’s wedding; and 
although upon that evening he felt very wretched, the 
modest manner of that lovely girl, her sensible, soft, 
blue eyes, that looked so innocently at the world, and 
the peculiarly soft, almost sad vibration in her voice, 
made a deep impression upon him. At that time all 
this was not quite so clear to him; he did not take 
any special interest in her; he danced with her and 
talked with her a great deal, but he was so absent 
withal that it struck Pia, and once when he laughed, 
she looked searchingly in his face and said: 


242 


JO}^EL FORTUNAT 


“Now confess, you are trying to appear happy, yet 
you are not; what ails you?” 

And her innocent, blue eyes drew from him the 
reply: 

“I am not happy, but I should like to be.” 

In answer to that she said softly and mournfully. 

“Who is happy?” 

Then he was too much engrossed with his own 
thoughts — too dazed — to think any more about her 
words; but now they resounded in his ears and he 
thought he knew the sorrow which had driven that 
question to her lips. 

Florica had often told him how noble and high-mind- 
ed Pia was! How mortifying it must be for such a 
girl to call that licentious man “father,” to feel her 
noble, pure, filial love vanish, and in its place arise 
anger, loathing, even contempt. Oh, he knew that 
same feeling; it constituted part of his own misery! 

“Poor Pia!” murmured he; she seemed all at once 
nearer to him; he saw the sad smile about her lovely 
mouth, heard the melancholy sound of her voice, and 
he was deeply moved. Suddenly he was aroused from 
his meditation. Herr Culianu, who was very tipsy 
and whose bald head shone, had embraced him and 
pressed him to his breast. 

“Brother!” cried he, “life would be very enjoyable 
were one lucky at cards. I am not; upon my honor, 
as true as I am here, I have lost hundreds of thou- 
sands! Beware of cards and women, brother, or you 
will be as I am; you will at last only have work upon 
which you will starve. What am I not all! journalist, 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


248 


theatrical critic, playwright, composer, member of 
the theatrical commission — but all that is not worth a 
rush. If you wish to live high, you must have no mind, 
no conscience; you must become train-bearer to one 
of our lords, to all that he says nod solemnly and hum- 
bly ‘Yes,’ and ‘Amen,’ and from every pore sweat 
abject humility, then you will become prefect, dep- 
uty, minister — and gold will pour from all sides upon 
your blessed head. But I am not one of those; and 
if I had not kind friends, brother, who now and then 
assist me, I should long since have perished; upon 
my honor! It is sad, brother, and sadder still because 
I have noticed that old Dobrescu has already begged 
of you, the rascal. Cross it off, brother; but next 
time when you have a little change, dear Jonel, may 
I hope? You smile, brother; is my request then 
granted? May I count upon twenty francs to-morrow 
— which I will consider a debt of honor — ? Well, 
then, let us drink one more glass!” With trembling 
hand he filled his glass, emptied it, threw it against 
the wall so that it shivered into a thousand atoms, 
staggered to the piano, and soon after the strnins of a 
hora were heard. 

"It is time for us to depart,” said Tschukee; "the 
champagne has mounted to these gentlemen’s brains, 
and the beast that is in us all will soon show itself in 
all its glory! That is no sight for you!” 

He drew Jonel from the smoky room into the hall, 
which, although it lacked only a few minutes of mid- 
night, was still full. 

The waiter, at Herr Tschukee’ s call, hastened up 


244 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


with overcoats -and hats, which he, recognizing the de- 
formed lawyer as a liberal pour-boire giver, had taken 
under his especial care. Herr Tschukee insisted upon 
paying Jonehs bill, although the latter protested 
against it. The servile bow of the waiter proved 
that he had received his expected fee. 

Herr Tschukee accompanied Jonel to his hotel. 
They did not exchange a word upon the way. 

"You have to day, dear friend," said Tschukee, as 
he took leave of Jonel, "learned to know three mem- 
bers of our so-called upper ‘circle.’ I shall not there- 
fore have to give you a minute commentary — an ex- 
planatory text — to this social cliche. Good night!" 


XXI 


When Jonel entered his room it was one o’clock in 
the morning. He lit the candles and sank into a 
chair; the excitement of that evening, the conscious- 
ness that very soon for the first time in his life he 
should have to make an important decision, drove 
sleep from his eyes. He lit a cigarette, and as he 
looked into the blue clouds of smoke, he lived over 
once again the experiences of his life. The light 
fell full upon his pale face, the soft lines upon the 
same had deepened, his features were more marked, 
more manly, upon his once clear forehead; between 
his brows lay a deep fold, his eyes seemed more hol- 
low, their calm light seemed to have given place to an 
almost feverish fire, and those external changes were 
a true picture of the inward change. The bitter grief 
of the past few weeks had robbed his youth of its 
freshness, which had formerly lent his whole being 
its strength and activity. 

Obstacles, whose existence he had scarcely suspect- 
ed, had entered into his path as mighty and influen- 
tial factors. His former liking for Zilibi’s little 
daughter, which unknown to him had glowed in his 
boyish heart, had been after many years re-awakened 
at the sight oi that magnificent woman, and had 
quickly grown into a passionate love. He told him- 

245 


246 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


self that that love was sinful, that Lea was selfish, 
that it was wrong to love such a woman. 

But the admonitions of his better nature were as 
ineffective as drops of water upon a rock; and to the 
force which drove him irresistibly toward her and 
awoke thousands of foolish hopes within his breast, 
was joined that aching pain caused by his sad rela- 
tions to his father. How deeply had he loved and 
honored him a few weeks before! And that man had 
driven his mother to her death; he had become the 
plaything of a heartless woman, who had enticed him 
to the brink of ruin and stifled within him all sense 
justice. And under the pressure of these circum- 
stances he — Jonel — was forced to take a step against 
which his better self revolted, but he was taking it to 
prevent an injustice to the farmers of Banesti. But 
notwithstanding that, was it not a dishonorable act 
offer a girl a heart burning with passion for another 
— to make all sorts of pretenses — to feign love for 
her in order to win her hand, and all because her 
dowry would serve as a means of saving his father 
from bankruptcy! 

If only that patriotic ardor which once had swelled 
within his breast still remained to him! But since 
his father had told him the secret of his birth, that 
feeling too had died within him. What was he really, 
a Roumanian or a Jew? Neither! — a national mongrel! 

“In order to sacrifice one’s heart’s blood for one’s 
"i:ountry, “ he said to himself, “patriotic feeling and 
ardor must spring from a pure source; one must cling 
to one’s native land with all the fiber of one’s heart! ” 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


247 


Was such the case with him? Did he not belong 
to that race whose sons were looked upon by the 
Roumanian nation as hated, despised Pariahs, divided 
from them by language, customs, religion and opin- 
ions as if by a gulf? Was it possible to combine the 
traditions of the people to whom his mother belonged 
with the grand, stirring traditions of the Roumanians 
from which his former ardent patriotism had sprung? 
Can one be Jew and Roumanian at the same time? 
Even if one were to succeed in the eyes of the world 
in that, would there not remain deep in one’s mind a 
secret dissension? 

All those tormenting thoughts and questions had 
for some days worried Jonel, and made him apathetic. 
Actuated by such feelings he had that evening con- 
fessed to the deformed lawyer that he felt miserable, 
that he was disgusted with everything and weary of 
life; but he was too full of life to be completely 
broken down by his misery, and onl}’’ some great 
shock was required to rouse him. That shock he had 
received at “the Paradise” in the company of those 
dissipating rakes. 

How degraded were those men! If they were in truth 
types of society in general, how depraved it must be! 
Was he not better than Culianu, than Dobrescu, than 
Prefect Aldean! What did it matter that his mother was 
a Jewess? Why should he grieve so? Nothing could 
be gained by it, and he had not moreover been brought 
up as a Jew! Did he not feel in his heart pure love 
for the country in which he was born? Was he not 
still possessed with a burning desire to do something 
brave and good? 


248 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


All those thoughts flew through his brain as he 
thoughtfully watched the clouds of smoke from his 
cigarette; his heart grew lighter and he smiled to 
himself. Had he brought those thoughts to-day, they 
would probably not have succeeded in banishing his 
melancholy — in calling a smile to his lips; but they 
had arisen from a peculiarly sweet sensation cf hap- 
piness which had suddenly come over him. He had 
experienced that same blissful feeling several times 
before when he thought of Pia, but lost in self-oblivion 
he had paid no attention to it; it came and vanished 
like a flash of lightning which breaks through heavy 
clouds and for a short moment lights up the dark 
night. But after having witnessed her father’s degra- 
dation, and having found out, as he supposed, the 
cause of her sadness, her image rose before him clear 
and bright, and it seemed to him as if her melancholy 
eyes beamed kindly and soothingly upon him, as if 
the weight upon his soul were lightened, and as if 
new strength sprang up within him. 

“She is a good, a noble girl! “ said he, softl}^ to him- 
self. “I shall try to become worthy of her love; I will 
work and obtain a position for myself. Oh, she shall 
be proud of me! “ 

He sprang up, walked up and down the room several 
times, then seized with a sudden idea, he opened his 
trunk, rummaged amongst its contents awhile, and 
brought forth a manuscript; it was a tragedy, the mate- 
rial for which had been suggested to him by the life 
and tragical end of Mihai the Brave, that national 
hero, who had so deeply interested him when a boy. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


349 


Shortly before his departure for home, he had fin-, 
ished the play; after entering his paternal halls he had 
thought no more about it; but now he pressed to his 
breast the manuscript as if it were an unexpectedly 
discovered prize. 

That tragedy upon which he had expended so much 
labor, should raise him above the people’s contempt; 
and when its words were declaimed from the stage — ^ 
when the audience should listen to them attentively, 
when applause would ring through the house and his 
name would become celebrated — then he should be 
able to say that he had taken the first step upon that 
path which he had once dreamed of. Then, too, 
would Pia understand that he was different from and 
better than others. 

Standing, he began to glance through the pages of 
the manuscript; a blissful sensation crept over him ; 
he saw the characters life-like before him; he heard 
their voices; and when he had read the last page, 
he stood still enraptured —deep in thought; a wagon 
rattling upon the pavement awoke him as from a 
dream. The light had burnt low. 

“Florica!” cried he suddenly. He had promised 
Florica to write to her as soon as he arrived at the 
residence; he seated himself and wrote. His pen 
flew over the paper; and he must have written some 
comical things to the sick girl, for occasionally he 
laughed. He wrote for half an hour, then the pen 
fell from his fingers, the light flickered and went out, 
he leaned back in his chair, his head fell upon his 
breast; for a while first Pia’s and then Florica’ s 
image hovered about him; then he fell into a deep, 
dreamless sleep. 


XXII 


Madame Aglae Dobrescu married very young — at 
sixteen in fact — so at the present time she is about 
five and forty, but looks considerably older: she is 
short and thin with a wrinkled withered face, but 
with black eyes which still retain their fire. She is 
very nervous and smokes cigarettes incessantly; in 
her life-time she has suffered much, for only the 
first two years of her wedded life passed happily. 
Her husband, fifteen years her senior when she mar- 
ried him, held a high public office. A year later he 
became a minister, which position he held only a few 
months. After his fall his finances were in a very 
doubtful condition: he changed his politics repeat- 
edly; he fought now for the liberals, now for the 
conservatives, and each time with the same ardor. 

"I am of the Bismarckian school! ” he would exclaim 
proudly, if reproached for instability. 

Besides politics, he turned his attention to the 
weal of the nation; he raved about protection, about 
national industries, about Friedrich List, and one 
day formed a company for raising the debt. Indeed 
the common debt intere'sted him less than his own 
heavy ones. He became the “factotum” of the company, 
but several irregularities which in a short time were 
discovered, forced him to abandon his efforts and tQ 

250 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


251 


flee. He then traveled to Paris with his wife, and 
they remained there two years. 

The Parisian air acted like magic upon him; he be- 
came a bon-vivant, and when he returned to his home, 
he continued his gay life, the pleasures of which had 
been taught him in Paris. 

Madame Dobrescu, who constantly annoyed him 
with her jealousy, he became indifferent to; he 
took no interest in her, and that uncomfortable state 
of affairs was not altered even when he became the 
father of twins — of a boy and a girl. Madame Dobrescu 
discovered that her husband had become a gambler, 
and one day he informed her himself that he had 
sold his last estate and had lost the sum received for 
it. 

He was crushed and wept like a child. 

She was unmoved; the last spark of affection for 
her husband died within her; for some time she had 
entertained thoughts of obtaining a divorce from him, 
but regard for her children, whom she loved devotedly, 
and the expectance of an inheritance from her brother- 
in law, Hagi Dobrescu, her husband’s elder brother, 
prevented that step being taken. 

Hagi Dobrescu was an old, wealthy bachelor, of 
proverbial avarice; he was so ill and feeble that his 
death was daily expected. But Madame Dobrescu had 
to pass five years in sorrow and suffering, and bear the 
deepest humiliations, before that eagerly-looked-for 
event took place. 

It was a terrible time; weeks often passed, during 
which Herr Dobrescu, who would not work, did not 


252 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


furnish one centime for the household expenses; and 
when his wife reproached him, he would slyly seize 
his hat, make his escape, and not put in an appearance 
the entire day, convinced that such a shrewd woman 
as Madame Dobrescu would find some means of de- 
liverance. And she did; there was no usurer in 
Jassy whom she had not asked for a loan— no pawn- 
broker who did not know her jewels. 

In the evening, when Herr Dobrescu, usually ac- 
companied by several friends whom he had invited to 
dinner, came home, all was quiet and in order. But 
there came a time when even the ready wit of Mad- 
ame Dobrescu could devise no means of help; and in 
that moment of necessity she turned to her brother- 
in-law; she did not do so directly, for she knew from 
bitter experiences, that all of her attempts to obtain 
money from Herr Hagi Dobrescu would be in vain. 
She therefore sent his favorite, her little son, Tica, 
after giving him particular instructions how to caress, 
to kiss and beg of his uncle until his heart softened,’ 
and how, if all were unavailing, in an unguarded 
moment to steal a gold piece out of his pocket. That 
strategem almost always succeeded, but invariably 
with this result: that the uncle, when he discovered 
the loss of his money, would burst angrUy into his 
brother’s house, address the most insulting remarks 
to his sister-in-law, and lament that he was being 
robbed, ruined, made miserable and unhappy. 

Then the poor child with eyes filled with tears and 
trembling in every limb, was forced to soothe the 
enraged old man. It was a terrible time, which re- 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


253 


mained indelibly impressed upon the minds of Ma- 
dame Dobrescu and her daughter, Pia, at the remem- 
brance of which they still shuddered. 

When Hagi Dobrescu died, a will was found in 
which his brother’s children were named as the heirs 
to his fortune, which amounted in land and securities 
to about six hundred thousand francs. 

Madame Dobrescu herself undertook the manage- 
ment of affairs; her husband had been so broken-down 
by trouble and dissipation and had lost so much of 
his energy that he was incapable of attending to any- 
thing. His wife had for so long a time assured him 
that he wa^ a good-for-nOthing, a sluggard, a perfect 
nonenity, that he believed it himself ; and in his 
weakness did not once advance the least claim to the 
management of his children’s estate. 

He asked for nothing but a monthly allowance of 
one hundred ducats which was granted him; and his 
married life would under the circumstances have been 
peaceable had that amount been sufficient to satisfy 
Herr Dobrescu’ s noble passions. But that was not 
the case. He contracted debts — certainly not large 
ones, for his creditors knew exactly how much his 
wife would advance him — and those debts had been 
the source for years of domestic quarrels which em- 
bittered Madame Dobrescu’ s life. Her only comforts 
in her sorrow were her two children — the fair-haired 
Pia, a sensible, sympathetic girl, and Tica, a black- 
eyed, sickly, pallid boy. 

Tica was not a bright child, but his mother hoped 
that as he grew older, his mind would strengthen. 


254 


JONEL FORTUhJAl 


However that hope was never realized. With difficulty 
he passed though six classes at the gymnasium, and 
when he reached his eighteenth year, an incident oc- 
curred which robbed Madame Dobrescu of all hope. 

One day — it was two years before the present time 
— Herr Pantasi Tschukee, who was her counsel and 
whose opinion she valued, called upon her, turned the 
conversation upon Tica, and hinted that it would be 
well to spare Tica all mental strain, for his brain 
had been overtaxed and might be thereby injured. 
He had been told that by the physician who, so it 
seemed, was not quite sure of the matter or he would 
not have failed to call Madame Dobrescu’ s attention 
to it. 

But it seemed that the doctor did understand the 
case, for Tica grew moodier, more silent — his black 
eyes lost their luster — he would often gaze into space 
for hours, and neither the caresses nor the tears of 
his mother and sister had power to rouse him from 
his stupor. 

Madame Dobrescu could not make .up her mind to 
place him in an asylum as she was advised to do, so 
he remained at home, but the life within that home 
grew gloomier and sadder every day. The poor boy 
could not bear a loud noise, so the servants crept 
about on tiptoe, the doors were closed softly, the 
house-keeper did not jingle her keys, and two dogs 
that had always frolicked about in the large garden 
were sent to Bogdanesti. 

Only Pia was permitted to break the monotonous 
silence by music. When she sat at the piano and 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


255 


played, Tica would crouch upon a tabouret and hold 
in his arms a black cat, whose coat he would stroke 
for hours, staring vacantly before him and keeping 
time to the music with his head. 

Madame Dobrescu lived a very retired life, partly 
at Bogdanesti, which was four miles distant from 
Banesti, partly at the residence; but she was never 
lonesome. The management of her estate occupied 
most of her time, and furnished quite a good deal of 
excitement. 

Into this miserable household Jonel brought some 
life. Madame Dobrescu had been prepared by a let- 
ter from Frau Falutza for the visit which he paid 
her upon the day after his arrival at Bucharest. The 
good old lady had written a letter of six pages, and 
concluded with the following passage: 

"You will like Jonel; he is a fine fellow, although 
since he returned from foreign lands he has neglected 
me. Yes, he is a fine fellow, and if I had a daughter, I 
could find no more desirable husband for her than he 
would be." 

"He seems indeed to be a very nice young man," 
said Fraulein Pia, to whom her mother had given the 
letter to read; "At Madame Valsamaki’s wedding I 
spent several pleasant hours with him; he is so intelli- 
gent and serious; he was introduced to you too, mam- 
ma — do you not remember him?" 

"Not very clearly," said Madame Dobrescu, "upon 
that evening such a number of young people were intro- 
duced tome. I know his father; I believe we are dis- 
tantly related; he must visit us; at any rate I shall 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


26 r^ 


ask Herr Tschukee more about him.” Herr Tschukee 
who generally ne\er spoke a good word for any young 
man, sang a hymn of praise in honor of Jonel. Jonel 
was therefore very cordially received, and upon taking 
his departure was invited to call often. He took ad- 
vantage of that invitation, and after the first three 
weeks was very much at home in the Dobrescu family. 

To Madame Dobrescu, whom Jonel had attracted by 
his grave manner, he was for another reason a very 
welcome guest; her poor Tica was, as a rule, shy of 
strangers; if a guest came, he would fly like a hunted 
deer out of the room. But to Jonel he took a special 
fancy, although at his first visit he ran away and hid 
under the stairs behind an oleander, remained there 
until Jonel left the house, then crept into the saloon, 
crouched at Pia’s feet and asked who the visitor was. 
That curiosity was somewhat strange in Tica. As a 
general thing he seldom noticed anyone. 

Pia told him about Jonel and Tica listened eagerly. 

When Jonel came the second time, he remained in 
the room and gazed at him wonderingly. At a later 
visit he even seized JonePs hand as he was about to 
leave and detained him, and when he finally departed 
the poor idiot crept into a corner of the room, wept 
softly and murmured JonePs name incessantly. 

Madame Dobrescu was delighted. After two long 
anxious years she saw her unfortunate son take an in- 
terest in the outer world — saw a spark of intelligence 
start up. 

Herr Tschukee took special pains to strengthen that 
liking for Jonel; he accompanied him when he could, 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


257 

and developed a truly paternal solicitude for him. 
He obtanied for him several minor suits, and even 
allowed him to plead in a case brought by Madame 
Dobrescu against one of her neighbors. 

Jonel performed his task to the satisfaction of Herr 
Tschukee, who did not fail to laud his work to 
Madame Dubrescu with the remark that she owed the 
successful issue of her suit to Jonel. The deformed 
lawyer did not stop there; he continually spurred 
Jonel on; he required from him articles upon the 
domestic and political topics of the day, and had them 
published under the author’s name in one of the lead- 
ing journals. People began to notice Jonel. Herr 
Tschukee was delighted. 

"You are now on the right path, my young friend," 
said Herr Tschukee one day to Jonel, "people are 
talking of you. You are now twenty-three years old 
— you have still another year which we will take ad 
vantage of." 

"Your interest in me touches me," said Jonel; "I 
really do not know in what way I shall be able to re 
pay you. I have often heard you say that people in 
general are mean and selfish, and that in our grade of 
society they are exceptionally so. I therefore should 
like to ask you why you take such an interest in me?" 

"I will answer your question. Listen, therefore; I 
love you on account of your eyes!" 

Jonel laughed. 

"Do not laugh; you have eyes exactly like Madame 
Valsamaki’s, and for such eyes I would go through 
fire! Do you wish another reason for my interest in 
^7 


258 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


you? I have several of them. But let us be seated, 
fo my explanation will be rather long-winded! I 
have often caught myself thinking — or rather my 
imagination pictured to me — that you were wedded 
to Pia, that you had lovely little children, c nd that I 
— an old, ugly, humpy camel of a bachelor — was 
creeping about on all fours, while your wee ones took 
their first riding-lesson upon my back. Oh, yes; 
when one grows old, one longs to find a couple of 
kind creatures with whom one can feel at heme. Am 
I not a selfish man?” 

“You are a noble one, Herr Tschukee!” 

“No, I am not, to be candid. It may be. that there 
is a little nobility in me, but with it all there is a 
devil, a Mephistopheles within me, which seeks to 
embitter my life and that of others. But I see that it 
is ten o’clock and I must go to court — yet one word 
more. Yesterday, during your absence, 1 took the 
liberty of rummaging amongst your old manuscripts 
and came across a tragedy, "Mihai the Brave.” The 
thing is not worth much; it is too commonplace, still 
it is good enough for our national theater. I shall 
see to it that it is produced; and yet another thing: 
Amongst your papers I also found a short treatise 
upon ‘Folk-poetry;’ the essay pleased me; I have 
spoken with the president of the atheneum; next 
Sunday you may lecture there upon ‘Folk-poetry.^ 
The leadings at the Atheneum are a great magnet 
for our ladies; Fraulein Pia and her mother will sure- 
ly be present if you speak in public. So prepare your- 
self. Adieu!” 


XXIII 


Several days later the newspapers announced that 
the following Sunday at eight o’clock p. m. Herr 
Doctor Juris Jonel Fortunat would deliver a lecture 
upon Roumanian Folk-poetry at the Atheneum. One 
of the best papers, the “Romonul, ” which had pub- 
lished several of Jonel’ s articles, added to that notice 
that a very enjo3^able evening would be spent by the 
audience, and that they must not miss the opportu 
nity of learning to know a young man whose native 
worth coupled with extraordinary oratorical gifts, 
promised so well for him. 

This emanated from the pen of Herr Tschukee, who 
likewise took pains that Fraulein Pia should see it. 
She read the notice aloud to her mother with delight, 
and explained to her eagerly that it would only be 
right for them to attend the lecture, for Jonel might 
feel slighted were they not present at his first public 
appearance. 

Madame Dobrescu, who never in her life had at- 
tended a lecture, and who was very indifferent to 
Roumanian Folk-poetry, anxiously inquired if there 
were an}" admission fee, and upon Pia replying in the 
negative, she said: 

“For my part, as long as it gives you pleasure and 
moreover costs nothing, we will go, but we will take 

259 


200 JONEL FORTUNAT 

Tica too; he shall use himself again to mingling with 
people.” 

And so upon Sunday at eight p. m. Madame Do- 
brescu, Pia and Tica occupied front seats in the hall of 
the Atheneum. The brightly-lighted room was more 
than filled; the elite of society, amongst them many 
ladies, were mustered strong. Everyone was anxious 
to become acquainted with Jonel, of whom the papers 
had spoken so highly. Upon the platform stood a 
desk and upon it the conventional glass of water. The 
hall was filled with chattering, whispering and laugh- 
ing voices. Suddenly silence reigned. 

Jonel stood upon the platform. The striking beauty 
of his pale face with its aristocratic features, the 
wonderful, darkly-glowing eyes, the arched, white 
forehead encircled by black curls, did not fail to have 
their effect upon the audience. Spontaneous applause 
resounded through the hall. Jonel bowed his head 
slightly and began to speak. At first he was some- 
what embarrassed; the heads of the audience swam 
before his eyes like a sea, that disconcerted him; for 
a few seconds he stared over their heads; his voice 
grew firmer, then the thought struck him that Pia was 
amongst the audience, and suddenly — he did not know 
himself how it happened — he looked in her eyes and 
she smiled sweetly. His voice became more resonant, 
his features more animated, the words fell from his 
lips, his embarrassment disappeared, he forgot that 
hundreds of people were gazing at him, it seemed to 
him as if he were only addressing the lovely girl with 
the golden curls and the mournful, blue eyes; to her 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


261 


alone did he point out with inspired words what a 
great and grand poet the nation was, and that the 
songs w’hich the “people” in sad and joyous hours had 
sung, were a fresh spring into which all must plunge 
in order to obtain health, invigoration and confidence 
in the future of the country. To her alone did he paint 
in glowing colors how they rejoiced in their love, and 
found deep, touching accents for their despair. 

Pia hung upon his words entranced; suddenly it oc- 
curred to her that the preceding evening Tschukee 
had called her attention to the fact that JonePs eyes 
bore a striking resemblance tp those of Pea. 

Tschukee was right — they were the same eyes, and 
as she told herself that, she shuddered uneasily; she 
had never liked Lea; the first time that she saw the 
Jewess, eight years before at the institute, she felt an 
instinctive aversion to her, perhaps because she was a 
Jewess and was looked upon in the school as an inter- 
loper; perhaps, too, because Lea was reserved and 
avoided all intimacy with anyone. 

Her aversion increased when one day she heard that 
Lea had refused to see her own father, who had come 
to town for that special purpose. She did not wish 
to be a Jewess, yet she was one; she was proud, she 
seemed neither to care for Pia^s mute dislike, nor for 
the gibes of the other girls. She lived for herself 
alone; she studied diligently, and the first year got 
ahead of the others; in all examinations she was the 
first and best, and the principal of the institute held 
her up as an example. 

They had been at school together five years without 


3G3 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


holding any friendly intercourse, and when Pia, as she 
left the institute, took leave of her, it was with a few 
formal words. All this passed rapidly through Pia’s 
mind. In confusion she drooped her lids, but she felt 
that JonePs eyes rested upon her; she listened no 
longer to the sense of his words, for the charm of his 
melodious voice enchanted her. As she again raised 
her eyes and saw his handsome, slightly flushed face 
and glowing eyes, when the thought shot through her 
that the man up there talking so intelligently — to- 
ward whom all looked with glaiices of admiration — 
thought only of her, spoke only to her, a sweet, bliss- 
ful sensation, never experienced before, possessed her, 
and she recalled several pointed remarks he had made 
to her upon his last visit, the glances which at times 
he cast upon her, the soft pressure of his hand, which 
she had noticed at his departure. All those moments 
were imprinted upon her mind, she thought she rec- 
ognized their import — and the hope of infinite happi- 
ness arose within her. So she sat there with a soft, 
ecstatic smile about her prett}’ mouth, lulled by his 
gentle voice, lost in a world of blissful dreams. She 
did not hear the remarks which her mother occasional- 
ly whispered to her; she did not hear Tica’s low 
laugh; she even did not hear the storm of applause 
which resounded through the room when Jonel had 
finished his lecture. 

Jonel was surrounded upon all sides and congratu 
lated. Herr Culianu indeed drew him tenderly to his 
bosom and kissed him. It was some time before 
Herr Tschukee succeeded in reaching Jonel, in order 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


263 


to whisper to him to hasten, for Madame Dobrescu 
expected him to tea that day. 

Half an hour later Jonel arrived at the house of 
Madame Dobrescu, who received him with ^reat cordi- 
ality. 

“I did not know that you were such an excellent 
orator,” said Madame Dobrescu, with undisguised 
pleasure; “Madame Falutza may indeed be proud of 
you! Pray, be seated. Pia will soon be here; we ex- 
pect Herr Tschukee too.” 

Soon after, the door opened and Fraulein Pia, in a 
simple but elegant dark house-dress, entered. A 
burning blush overspread her face as Jonel held out 
his hand to her with a smile. 

“So many have congratulated you to-day,” said she, 
“that you will care very little for my congratula- 
tions.” 

“Do you think so?” laughed Jonel with beaming 
eyes; his success of that day had strengthened his 
self-consciousness; he was proud, happy, almost gay. 
“Do you think so?” repeated he; he bent toward 
her, looked searchingly in her eyes and lowering his 
voice, he said: “And what if I were to assure you 
that a word of encouragement from your lips would 
make me happier than all the praise I have received 
to-night — only one single word — what would you say 
to that?” 

Pia had no time to reply, for suddenly HerrTschu 
kee stood before them, as if he had sprung out of 
the ground, and cried, threatening them with his 
finger: 


264 


JOJ^EL FORTUNAT 


“No secrets! And you, my lovely child, beware of 
this man; he has a very smooth tongue! And now, 
little one, let us sip a cup of tea, for I am in need of 
it to cheer my drooping spirits. I have to hold a con- 
ference with your mother to night.” 

In the meantime Herr Lascar Dobrescu had entered 
the room; he gallantly kissed his wife’s hand, em- 
braced Pia, and patting Jonel familiarly upon the 
shoulder, he said: 

“I was unfortunately prevented by important busi- 
ness from attending your lecture; accept my congratu- 
lations too. I am delighted to find one young man 
who has some aim in life; our fatherland needs such 
men as you, and I am convinced that the hopes placed 
in you will be realized. May I beg of you to take a 
seat next me?” 

But his request was not complied with. Tica, who 
was sitting silently at the table, sprang up and drew 
Jonel into a chair at his right, while Pia seated her- 
self at his left. 

Fraulein Pia served the tea. Madame Dobrescu was 
in a very good humor. She declared laughingly that 
she should never have believed that peasants could 
compose such beautiful poetry as Jonel had that day 
declaimed, and remarked at the same time with a side 
glance at Pia that Jonel must surely be in love, for 
he delivered those poems of love with a truly passion 
ate ardor. 

“You are his intimate friend, dear Tschukee, ” added 
she smiling; “tell us who the fortunate one is who has 
set JonePs heart a-fire?” 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


205 


Pia became rosy red when her mother addressed 
that question to the humpback, who, with a wink of 
his eye, said that Jonel would himself take advantage 
of the opportunity to give Madame Dobrescu an in- 
sight into his heart. 

“Oh, Love! sighed Herr Dobrescu; “do you still 
remember, Aglae, that during our engagement I used 
to give you wonderful poems written upon pink pa- 
per? Much time has flown since then. One grows 
old,” added he, sighing; “one has other cares in one’s 
head. ” 

“Other cares?” exclaimed Madame Dobrescu; “yes, 
cares how to squander money!” 

“I hope,” said Herr Dobrescu gravely, “that this is 
a general sentence and that you do not mean anything 
personal. ” 

A sharp retort was upon Madame Dobrescu’ s tongue, 
but Fia’s imploring e3^es caused her only to cast an 
annihilating glance at her husband. She arose and 
asked Herr Tschukee to accompany her to her study. 

“And you, Pia, go to the saloon with Herr Fortunat 
and Tica and have some music.” 

Tschukee pressed Jonel’ s hand significantly and fol- 
lowed Madame Dobrescu. 

Herr Dobrescu likewise withdrew, after first whis- 
pering to Jonel that he would be found at the “Para- 
dise” until midnight. 

“Come play, Pia!” cried Tica, who up to that time 
had been staring vacantly into space. He sprang up 
and clung to Jonel’ s arm. 

“My poor brother loves music Very much,” said Pia, 


266 


JO>JEL FORT UN AT 


“but" only simple Roumanian melodies, and sometimes 
I have to repeat the same air ten times; it will give 
you no pleasure, Herr Fortunat.” 

“You must not say that, Fraulein Pia,” cried he; 
“you know how much I love everything relating to 
the nation; I never have such happy thoughts as when 
I am listenting to a simple, mournful folk-song!” 

They passed through two small rooms into a taste- 
fully furnished white and gold saloon lighted by six 
candles. 

Pia seated herself at the piano, Jonel sank into a 
chair, while Tica upon a tabouret crouched at his feet. 
The girPs small, delicate fingers flew over the keys. 
Tica rested his elbows upon his knees, pressed his 
forehead between his hands and stared before him, 
smiling foolishly; then he began to keep time with 
his head. Jonel laid his hand upon the boy’s curly 
head and looked searchingly in the face which bore a 
striking resemblance to Pia’s rosy one — and still what 
a difference there was between them! One bore the 
horrible stamp of idiocy, while the other was fresh, 
lovely and animated, with glorious eyes in which 
seemed to slumber a whole world of thoughts and 
feelings. To slumber? No! They were awakened; 
they glistened from the liquid depths of those eyes, 
which now and then glanced shyly at Jonel. There 
was in them something almost roguish, as if they 
wished to say: “How can you be so silly, Jonel? 
Can you not see that I, love, that I worship you? 
Why do }ou not speak out, so that this strain may 
be ended? Why do you not tell me, what I have long 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


267 


since guessed, what you have long ago betrayed, that 
you love me with all your heart?’' 

He understood the meaning of those glances, but he 
did not stir from his seat. At the moment when the 
happiness of which he had dreamed, for which his 
inmost soul, had longed, was within his reach, so 
near, that he only needed to open his arms in order 
to grasp it, a sudden restraint possessed him, and he 
asked himself if he had done right to win that maiden's 
heart. How would it be if she knew that he, like a 
scheming adventurer, had sought her hand — if she 
knew that he was speculating upon her dowry just as 
others had done, only that he had been a trifle more 
discreet; if she knew that he had assumed a mask in 
order to deceive her, and that Tschukee had been his 
accomplice in that miserable strategy! 

He arose and advanced toward her; he would tell her 
all, confess all, beg her pardon and bid her farewell 
forever. He stood before her; she looked at him and 
was terrified at the expression upon his face. 

“What ails you?” cried she. 

“Nothing, nothing,” murmured he, “I only wished 
to tell you that I envy poor Tica. ” 

She looked at him speechle,ssly. 

“I am not mad, FrauleinPia; I sometimes think one 
should not rebel were one's spiritual eyes to be struck 
with blindness; one could at least not see one's own 
lack of character and that of others.” 

She arose, the color had fled from her cheeks; she 
looked at him anxiously. 

“I do not understand you,” murmured she. She was 


268 


JONtL FORTU'NAT 


standing near him; he felt her breath, could see her 
bosom rise and fall. 

“Jonel’” cried she suddenly, and a sweet, inde- 
scrible charm lay in that cry. 

“Pia!” stammered he, throwing his arms about her, 
and he laughed and kissed her eyes and mouth in 
blissful ecstasy. 

She disengaged herself, retreated several steps and 
sank into a chair. He stood there awhile. She 
looked up at him and in her eyes lay a whole world of 
love; she expected a word, a single, tender word — but 
he remained silent; his happiness seemed to have 
departed ; he gazed darkly, miserably before him, 
then the door opened softly. 

Pantasi Tschukee entered; h:: looked closely at 
Pia and Jonel, smilingly grasped his arm and said: 
“We must go, Jonel! “ 

Silently Jonel held out his hand to Pia, a question 
trembled upon her lips, but her throat contracted; 
she could rot utter a sound. 

“Happiness produces silence!” laughed Tschukee. 
“Auf wiedersehen, Fraulein Pia!” 


XXIV 


It was a lovely December night, the stars were twink- 
ling brightly. Jonel and the humpback walked along 
for awhile silently, both of them deep in thought, 
until at last Tschukee broke the silence. 

“You are indeed a lucky fellow. If my psychology 
does not deceive me, while / was debating with Ma- 
dame Dobrescu about the dry prose of the dowry and 
settled all that to your fullest satisfaction, you made 
a declaration of love to that darling girl. Madame 
Dobrescu likes you very much, the daughter loves you, 
so nothing remains but for you to slip into your best 
coat to-morrow, to call upon your future mother-in- 
law, and propose in due form for Pia’shand. It must 
be done at once, for Madame Dobrescu is as variable 
as the winds. You must obtain her consent before 
the whole affair is public property, before kind friends 
find time to talk against you to the old lady, for that 
there are such people, I can assure you! Then to- 
morrow, Jonel, eh?” 

*T do not know if — ” 

“What do you not know?” asked Tschukee, testily. 
“What is still to be considered? how can you hesi- 
tate a moment after having turned the poor girPs 
brain and after having kissed her this evening too?” 

“Do not torment me!” cried Jonel. 

269 


270 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


“You must do it,” continued Tshcukee excitedly. 
“You know thai the fate of your family depends upon 
it — you dare not make either me or yourself ridicu- 
lous, much less make the poor girl miserable! And 
now here is a piece of good news — your play, Mihai 
the Brave, is accepted, and will be produced in a few 
weeks. What do you say to that? And still more 
news — very important news! Do you know who ar- 
rived here to day and is stopping at the Hotel Boule- 
vard — Madame Lea Valsamaki!” 

Jonel stood as if rooted to the spot. 

“Lea?” cried he. 

“Lea, in the flesh. Her husband has, as you know, 
for some time been my client, so I considered it my 
duty to call upon her at once to-day. A superb 
woman, Jonel — she spoke a great deal of you and com- 
missioned me to ask you to call upon her to-morrow 
afternoon; she is here without her husband, accom- 
panied only by the old gypsy, Paraskiza.” 

“Lea,” said Jonel softly, as if talking to himself, 
“what does she want here and with me?” 

They had arrived at the house in which Jonel occu- 
pied two rooms. Near the door a gas-lamp was burn- 
ing, the light from which fell full upon his pale face; 
the humpback grasped his hand and said slowly and 
emphatically: 

“It seems to me, Jonel, that Lea is very much in- 
terested in you, more so than is perhaps good for your 
peace of mind, and I also fancy that you are not in- 
different to Madame Valsamaki either; do you love 
her, Jonel? Answer honest]\ a id truly! ” 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


271 


“No!’* said Jonel, firmly. 

“Then pay her a visit to-morrow and tell her so 
yourself’’’ laughed the humpback. “Indeed if you 
were different from what you are — in other words, if 
you were anything like Pantasi Tschukee, you would 
not be so cruel as to repulse a lovely woman; you 
would kiss her — she has a sweet mouth — you would 
love her and your fiancee at the same time — and you 
would be doubly happy — but you are an incorrigible 
visionary — you have no hump upon your back. Au 
revoir!’’ He pressed JonePs hand and disappeared. 

“Ah, you cannot deceive me, ’’ murmured he to him- 
self, “I believe I have found the key to your strange 
behavior of to day. You have loved Lea, my dear boy, 
perhaps love her still — and you now are standing like 
an old donkey between two bundles of hay and do not 
know which to choose. You are a fool, Jonel; you 
must be forced; the happiness, which you, from pure 
conscientiousness dare not seize, must be thrust upon 
you. But what does it concern you, Pantasi?” he cried 
out, stopping and striking his brow with the palm of 
his hand. 

He did not answer that question, but walked quickly 
on, and as he went these words sounded within him: 
“He is such a person as is used for a kind of bait — 
young, healthy, blooming, handsome, talented, adored 
by the women — yes, a 'bait to make us believe that 
there are really happy people in this world. Stuff 
and nonsense! And 3^et, if I had not this accursed 
hump and possessed limbs like Jonel, we would soon 
make an end of you, gracious Madame Lea — then per- 


272 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


haps my pessimistic views would melt like March snow 
beneath the golden beams of the spring sun, more 
especially if I succeeded in kissing your eyes, 
Madame Valsamaki, your eyes, and your sweet, rosy 
mouth— yes, your mouth!" When he raised his eyes, 
he was in front of Hotel Boulevard. 

“That is dangerous and significant, Pantasi,” mur- 
mured he, “for you to walk blindly through the streets 
and stop unconsciously at the Hotel Boulevard where 
Lea has taken up her abode; significant — I should 
think so! It will turn out yet that you are in love, 
Pantasi ^ “ 

He whistled softly, turned and hastened to the 
“Paradise,” but he only remained there a few minutes 
notwithstanding the fact that Miss Alma seated her- 
self beside him and clasped his hand tenderly. She 
disgusted him; Herr Aldean and Herr Dobrescu were 
unbearable to him; the champagne did not enliven 
him; the tones of the piano disturbed him. He 
sprang up, hurried out, walked through several streets 
until he arrived at a tavern, which he occasionally fre- 
quented. 

“Will Dimicu be here to-day?” he inquired of the 
proprietor. 

“Dimicu olays to-day at a wedding.” 

“The devil take him!” muttered Tschukee; then he 
ordered some wine. He rolled a cigarette and drank 
one glass of wine after the other. When he left the 
inn, he was rather weak in the knees; he staggered 
through the quiet streets until he was again in front 
of the Hotel Boulevard. The immense building was 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


273 


bathed in moonlight, and the windows glittered and 
sparkled; from them looked out the heads of women, 
blonde and brunette heads, pale and rosy faces. Ever)*- 
where women, everywhere women’s eyes, everywhere 
divine fema.le forms, and the loveliest of all was Lea, 
with her wonderful eyes and her prett}^ mouth, and 
she fluttered down and kissed him. That was a kiss, 
Pantasi; hot as fire, sweet as honey, and it passed 
through the very marrow in one’s bones! He laughed 
and tried to embrace her, but she drew back; he has- 
tened after her and called her name — she only drew 
back the more — he ran about breathlessly, with eyes 
strained crying and moaning: “Lea!” but her form 
became more and more shadowy until it finally van- 
ished altogether, and he fancied that his heart stood 
still. He wept and cried again: “Lea!” Then all grew 
still about him — and through the stillness rang out 
the tones of a bell. — Herr Pantasi Tschukee awoke, he 
lay before the door of his house, morning had begun 
to dawn. 

“You are surely intoxicated, Pantasi,” said he, open- 
ing the door and stumbling up the stairs to his. apart- 
ments. 


XXV 


It was a typical December day, the heavens were 
overcast, the cutting wind whirled about the snow- 
flakes which danced and chased one another as if they 
were delighted with the merry tinkling of the bells 
which sounded along the streets. Madame Valsamaki 
stood at the window of a luxuriously furnished saloon 
on the first floor of the Hotel Boulevard; she watched 
the snow-flakes; a grave expression lay upon her fea- 
tures. She heard a clock strike; she started. It was 
four o^ clock; she turned around, the gipsy Paraskiza 
stuck her head ia at the door and cried: "He is com- 
ing!" 

Madame Valsamaki took several steps toward the 
mirror, she looked at herself closely, her features 
brightened, she was handsome. Her Juno-like form 
was clad in an elegant, black velvet gcwn, a white 
rose was fastened in her blue-black hair, she smiled 
slightly and in doing so showed her pearly teeth; she 
heard steps upon the floor, she sank upon a sofa and 
seized a book with her delicate, white right hand, on 
the slender wrist of which a golden bracelet set with 
glittering gems sparkled. 

The door opened, Jonel entered. She had resolved 
to receive him with cool, calm politeness; but as he 
stood before ^her, pale, his head somewhat bent, si- 

274 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


275 


lently, his gaz j fixed questioningly on her, a blissful 
thrill shot through her, and a bright blush suffused 
her cheeks. She arose. 

“Jonel!” cried she, and her voice had a sound of 
suppressed rejoicing in it; she seized both of his 
hands and gazed for a second in his eyes, but she soon 
regained the mastery over herself. “I am pleased,” 
said she, “that you yielded to my request and came 
even in such a storm! Will you take a seat?” 

Jonel took a chair. 

“I considered it my duty,” said he gravely, “to call 
. upon my poor Florica’s friend. How is Florica? ” 

“I fear, not very well — I visited her yesterday, she 
sent much love to you. Your father, too, sent his 
love, and asked me to take you to task for writing so 
seldom, but I can imagine the reason; I fancy your 
time is very much taken up. You have become a law- 
yer, a politician, a poet; you write dramas and plead 
cases, you are on the road to becoming a famous man. 
You probably have no lack of lady friends; you come 
home tired, excited, your head filled with plans for 
the future, your heart swelling with sweet hopes, and 
you forget the old home of Banesti.” 

She laughed; it was a soft, childish, rippling 
laugh. 

“You are mistaken, madame, ” said Jonel. “I have 
not forgotten the old home, Banesti; and if I seldom 
write to my family it is because I have nothing 
pleasant to tell them. But what brings you to 
Bucharest, if I may ask?” 

“My husband is ill, very ill,” replied she quickly; 


276 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


'‘he hjLS several cases in this court, and as Herr 
Tschukee is very lazy, oh, very lazy, I came myself, in 
order to intrust you with them. Will you be our 
counsel? Will you?” 

“I do not know, madame, how I can have won your 
confidence.” 

“For my confidence in matters of business you have 
Herr Tschukee to thank; he recommended you highly. 
You have a rare friend in Herr Tschukee, a father 
could not care for you more tenderly ; but,” added she, 
smiling, ‘ he has one great fault — ” 

‘‘And that is?” 

‘‘He is not discreet enough!” 

A slight blush rose to JonePs cheeks. 

‘‘Perhaps / was to blame; I catechized him and he 
had to tell me exactly how you were getting on, what 
you were doing, what plans 3^ou had formed, in what 
circle you moved, and with what ladies you associ- 
ated. ” 

‘‘And he told you all?” 

‘‘All!” said she. 

A painful silence followed. Jonel sat by Ler side 
thoughtfully, he felt no uneasiness, no pain in the pres- 
ence of that lovely woman whose image a few weeks 
before had haunted him, waking and dreaming — on the 
contrar}^, a peculiar calm came over him. He wondered 
at it himself and asked himself : ‘‘Is this indeed Lea, 
the woman whom you so ardently loved? How is it 
possible that you can have changed so completely, 
that you feel no more that burning passion which a 
short while since consumed your very heart?” 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


277 


She was the first to break the silence. 

"It perhaps seems somewhat strange to you that your 
fate interests me so much, does it not?” 

He did not reply. 

"And yet I have a right to take an interest in you," 
continued she, "I am your neighbor, a friend of your 
family, of your sister. Does not all that sufficiently 
explain my interest in your welfare?” 

"Certainly,” said he, unembarrassed, with a merry 
air. 

Lea’s lips quivered nervously. 

"And then,” continued she eagerly, as her eyes 
began to sparkle, "and then are we not old friends, 
playmates? Do you remember our first meeting in 
the church-yard of Banesti? How long ago was that? 
I believe it must have been nine or ten years. I 
was a madcap; I can see you before me now as you 
brandished your whip, and Jankele, the tavern-keeper’s 
little son, ran away howling, and I sprang upon you 
and struck you upon the forehead with a stone, and sud- 
denly you lay there pale, with closed eyes, and blood 
upon your brow. It was the first sorrow of my life. 
I wept a great deal about it, and yet in my heart 
there lurked something sweet, something inexpressi- 
bly blissful. It seems to me an eternity has passed 
since then.” 

Lea said all that quietly, but her voice sounded so 
soft, so seductive, in her words trembled something 
unexpressed; and the entire conduct of the lovely 
woman breathed to Jonel of such passion that the 
blood mantled his cheeks. 


378 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“Do you remember it?” asked she. 

“Yes, yes,” murmured he. 

“Do you remember that lovely evening when I sat 
upon the balcony at your castle at Florica’s feet, in- 
side in the hall was spread a marriage-feast, at the 
head of which sat your step-mother and your father 
with joyful eyes, and the guests sang and drank, my 
father played merry dances, you related to us a stir- 
ring story of Mihai the Brave, I listened to the story 
and my childish heart beat with joy and pain — with 
pain, because you despised, hated, loathed me. I 
often asked myself, why, why?” 

She asked it then — but she seemed to expect no 
answer; staring fixedly before her, she sat there, as 
if she saw what she had just spoken of. After a few 
moments she continued: “Why? The question troubled 
me, it gfave me no peace, and I could find no other 
reply, but this: ‘Because you are a Jewess!’ And 
from that time I began to hate Judaism with all my 
might; and later I had thousands of other reasons for 
hating it — later at the institute in which I, thanks to 
Herr Valsamaki’s kindness, was educated. Oh, you 
have not experienced them, the innumerable pangs 
one feels every day, year in, year out, and all only 
because one is a Jewess!” 

That time she spoke quickly, animatedly, her pale 
face was strangely agitated, she stopped abruptly. 

“I do not know, Madame, ’’said Jonel, and his voice 
sounded almost harsh, “I do not know why you have 
re-caJled these memories of the past.” 

At that remark a blush overspread her face. 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


279 


"Why do I recall those memories?" cried she, 
"I could reply that I do so because one likes when 
with old companions to recall one’s childhood; that 
answer might suffice, but I will tell you the truth." 
She drew nearer him, looked in his eyes and said 
gravely: "I am going to ask you a question; I pray 

you, answer it shortly: What do you think of me, 
Jonel? What did you think of my marriage? Did 
you not think it incomprehensible, or better still, only 
too comprehensible, that I married an old man? I was 
of course a Jewess, and in consequence avaricious, 
greedy for gold like all of my race. I longed for 
wealth and therefore I sold my youth, my heart, my 
beauty, my whole life — sold them for money to the 
highest bidder. • That is the opinion of all, and of 
course your opinion too, is it not?" 

"Do not force me to reply," gasped Jonel. He 
tried to rise, she caught his arm and restrained him. 

"I beseech of you, Jonel, answer me!" 

"What do you care for my opinion, madame?" 

"A great deal, Jonel! What others think of me, 
matters not; they may condemn me, what do I care? 
But you, Jonel, must not — you must not condemn me 
from appearances. I wish you to have a different 
opinion of me and therefore I should like you to see 
into my soul, it might perhaps interest you!" She 
laughed bitterly. "You are a poet, you might write 
a novel about it, it would furnish good material for 
you! " 

Jonel gazed silently before him, but the twitching 
of the corners of his mouth and the pallor of his face 
betrayed his inward agitation. 


280 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“Just fancy, Jonel,” continued she, “a poor, Jewish 
child, the daughter of a miserable Jewish jester and 
peddler, brought up in want and poverty, a girl whose 
proud, young heart rebelled against all the scorn and 
contempt which she saw heaped daily upon her father, 
a girl who longed to escape from all that wretched- 
ness and climb the steps to that bright world which 
enchanted her — to a world of happiness, pleasure and 
joy — to a world which she saw before her, to a world 
in which you, Jonel, lived, and from whose sunny 
heights you looked down contemptuously upon the 
poor Jewess. Can you picture such a child? Can you 
imagine the misery with which the heart of such a 
child might be filled?” 

He gently nodded his head. 

“If you can, you will perhaps understand why I 
clung to that hand which raised me from poveifty, 
which lifted me up to those heights which my imag- 
ination painted so vividly. You will understand why 
I renounced Judaism, why I left my father who wished 
to bind me to his degradation — I played a high game 
— the hoped-for prize was my life’s happiness. And 
now,” added she, sighing heavily, “comes the tragical 
close of my story." 

“Tragical?” asked Jonel with a bitter smile. “Why 
should the close be tragical? It seems to me to be 
very happy, very bright!” 

“You are mistaken,” said she; “I have lost the 
game; the gain was not worth the stake.” 

She sank back upon the sofa and covered her face 
with her hands while violent sobs shook her frame. 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


281 


Jonel was moved; the old feeling, which smoldered 
in his heart for that woman, revived; he felt a wild 
desire to press her to his breast, to kiss away her tears 
and to disclose to her his secret. Suddenly a name- 
less fear seized him, and it seemed as if a voice whis- 
pered to him; “Think of Pia! ” No, he must not be- 
come doubly a sinner; he must not sin against that 
woman in whose glowing eyes he thought he read 
something like triumph at his weakness, nor against 
that poor, innocent girl who trusted in him as in her 
God. 

“I thank you, madame, “ said he coldly, rising, “for 
the confidence which you have given me; I confess 
to you candidly that before that I judged you as all 
the world does; now I think differently, farewell!” 

“You must not leave me, Jonel,” exclaimed she has- 
tily; “I have not finished my confession! ” She sprang up 
and drawing near him she laid her hand upon his shoul- 
der; he could feel her hot breath. “Do you know since 
when I have known my happiness to be a shadow,’ 
began she, “do you know since when 1 have felt mis- 
erable and unhappy? vSince the moment that I met you 
again. For a long time I would not believe my rag- 
ing heart. But in church when I uttered that ‘Yes,’ 
while I should have cried, no — no — and when I felt 
the cold circlet upon my finger, it seemed to me as 
if the ground gave way beneath my feet, as if my 
heart, my soul, my thoughts, were sinking — falling. 
Like a drowning person I looked up, and there 
were your eyes looking at me; then I knew for a cer- 
tainty, I felt with joy and sorrow that I loved you. 


282 


JONEL FORT UN AT 


Jonel, loved you devotedly! And you love me, too, 
Jonel, do you not?’' she cried passionately. “Oh, say 
that you love me! “ 

She embraced him wildly, covered his eyes and 
mouth with kisses. 

For several seconds he stood as if stunned, but sud- 
denly he freed himself, and hastily, in broken 
accents cried: 

“Perhaps you do not know. Lea, that I am as good 
as engaged to Fraulein Pia Dobrescu!” 

She laughed aloud — it was a malicious laugh. 

“What do I care for Pia,” cried she; “she is your 
fiancee — I don’t care — it is with you as with me — you 
are going to marry because you must! I will be 
happy; I have a right to be, and if you love me, it 
matters not to me that Pia is your fiancee. Tell 
me, Jonel, do you love me?” 

“No,” murmured he. 

She stared at him in astonishment, as if she did 
not understand his words. 

“No! ’’cried she, and a smile played about her lips. 
“No, and you did not love me before?” 

“You have no right to ask that question, madame, ’ 
said he, gravely. “You forget that Herr Valsamaki 
is your husband!” 

“I will forget it; what does it concern you? It is 
a sin? Well, it is a sin. No, it is no sin, Jonel; sin is 
misery, unhappiness. Happinesss — love — is no sin.” 

“That is Tschukee’s philosopy, madame,” said he, 
“and very poor philosophy it is; I do not believe in 
it. Farewell!” 















M 








.V««X 








JOI^EL FORTUNAT 


283 


He held out his hand, she did not take it, but 
stepped to the window, looked out, and with her white 
teeth bit her under lip in order not to cry aloud with 
pain and sorrow. 


XXVI 


It was night; from the streets could be heard the 
jingling of sleigh-bells and the shouting of a lot ot 
street Arabs who were pelting one another with 
snowballs. Lea heard nothing, saw nothing; suddenl}^ 
she turned around; the gypsy Paraskiza had lighted 
two candles. 

“Leave the room!” cried Lea, “and do not return 
until I call you, and allow no one to enter — no one, 
do you hear?” 

Her voice, usually so clear and silvery, sounded harsh 
and shril like the tones of a cracked bell. 

The gypsy cast a long, lowering glance at her mis- 
tress, and slunk away. 

Lea extinguished the lights; all should be in dark- 
ness, as dark as was her mood. Up to that time she 
had been unable to think clearly; she had felt so 
wretched and melancholy. How she had anticipated 
that meeting with Jonel; what sweet hopes she had 
cherished! During long, weary nights she had 
planned how she would win JonePs love, until finally 
he should kneel before her and murmur: “Lea, I love 
you!” And she had hoped to lead him on by a signifi- 
cant word, by a glance of her eye, by a warm pressure 
of her hand, oh, by all the thousand and one small 
arts which feminine coquetry can devise; she would 

284 


JONEL FORTUN^T 


285 


tease him, would arouse his jealousy, would torment 
him, keep him in uncertainty until she was perfectly 
sure of him, then only would it be time to draw him 
to her, to confess to him that she loved him — adored 
him. And all had been so different; his presence 
had bewildered, dazzled, confused her and driven 
away all her frivolity and coquetry. She had not con 
sidered it sinful to lay at the feet of the man who 
had always been her ideal, the king of her dreams, a 
royal gift — her wild, passionate love — without fear or 
trembling. And he had cast that gift contemptuously 
aside; had he then no eyes, no youthful blood in his 
veins? Oh, it was incomprehensible! Wherever she 
appeared men's eyes always glanced at her admiringly; 
if she had wished it so, she might have had innumer- 
able lovers at her feet. She had felt proudly con- 
vinced that she could make a man happy by a glance. 
Now to the first man whom she loved,' all her beauty 
which she looked upon as entrancing, as irresistible, 
was as naught! 

"He does not love me!" escaped her lips, in con 
firmation of the thoughts which raged within her, but 
as she said those words to herself, her whole being 
rebelled, and she saw before her those times in her 
life when she had met Jonel, from their first meeting 
in the cemetery at Banesti to their meeting of that 
day. And at each meeting she thought of moments, 
a hasty word, a traitorous quivering of the lips, a 
glance of the eye, a sudden pallor, a sudden blush — 
moments which strengthened her in the belief that 
Jonel was not indifferent to her, that he loved her and 


286 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


she fancied she had found the explanation of his con- 
duct of that day. If he loved her, must he not be 
vexed with her for having married Herr Valsamaki? 
Dared he confess his love when she was the wife of 
another, when he, in order to sav^ his family, was 
forced to marry Pia? 

“Pia!” that name cut her to the quick. No, that 
marriage must not take place, Jonel should not sacri 
fice himself for his family; he was not yet formally 
betrothed; the relations could be broken without any 
eclat, but how? She mused a long time; an idea 
struck her, she had found a means which seemed to 
her infallible; she lighted the candles, seated herself 
and in feverish haste penned a few lines to Herr 
Tschukee, in which she requested him to see that 
Madame Dobrescu would not be at home upon the 
following forenoon between eleven and twelve, at 
which hour she proposed calling upon Pia. She 
sealed the note, rang the bell and gave it to the 
waiter who entered with the order to send it at once 
to the given address. When the waiter had left the 
room, she drew a deep breath, as if a heavy weight 
had been lifted from her mind. 

The old gipsy, who shortly after crept into the 
saloon, was much surprised to find her mistress mer 
rier and more talkative than she had been for weeks. 

Madame Valsamaki had every reason to be so, for 
she had made herself believe. that she was about to 
perform a noble deed. Would it not be kind of her 
if she could prevent Jonel from marrying a girl whom 
he did not love? Jonel should not sell himself, he 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


287 


should follow the promptings of his own heart; if 
that heart were hers — she thought not of that; she 
would be content if Jonel were free, happy; she tried 
to persuade herself that she was only striving for his* 
good; she would indeed sacrifice self and avoid him, 
and if in spite of that he should seek her, why then, 
who could tell — she sprang up, her face was deathly 
pale, she gasped for breath, for words, and suddenly 
there escaped from her throat a joyful, exultant cry. 


XXVII 


Lea had not asked Herr Tschukee to manage so that 
she could see Pia alone without an especial and well 
weighed reason. She wished to have no witnesses 
to her conversation with Fraulein Dobrescu, for she 
feared that they m'ight see through her game; as luck 
would have it therefore, it chanced that Madame 
Dobrescu the following forenoon was called to court 
upon special business. Herr Tschukee informed Lea 
of that. 

Pia, who had no idea that Madame Valsamaki had 
arrived at Bucharest, was very much surprised when 
about eleven o’clock an elegant sleigh drove into the 
court and soon after Madame Valsamaki’ s card was 
handed to her. She received her former schoolmate 
coldly, but politely. Lea was not at all disconcerted; 
she expressed her regret at not finding Madame Do- 
brescu at home, said that she looked upon it as a 
pleasant duty to pay her first visit in Bucharest to 
the Dobrescu family, complimented Pia upon her 
good-looks, and then proceeded to speak of her own 
affairs. 

‘T ma}^ truly say, ” said she, “that I am happy. Of 
course there are some drops of bitterness mingled 
with the sweet, but who is quite happy? My husband 
is delicate, I am therefore compelled to attend to his 

288 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


289 


business, which has called me to Bucharest. Ah, if 
I could only live here! You do not know how to 
value your good fortune, Fraulein Pia, in being able 
to live in a residence which is so rich in pleasures 
of all kinds; with us in the country it is terrible; 
one almost dies of ennui, especially in the winter!” As 
she said that, she examined Pia closely and was 
obliged to own that that lovely girl, with the bright, 
blue eyes, with the fresh, rosy complexion, the lux- 
uriant hair, which gleamed like spun-gold, and with 
the finely-molded lips, was calculated to inflame 
men^s hearts. 

Pia too, looked with serious gravity at the strik- 
ingly handsome woman with the fine bust, the pale 
face and dark eyes which bore such a resemblance 
to JonePs. 

“One almost dies of ennui,” repeated Lea. 

“And yet I think,” said Pia, “that one might be 
very happy in the country, and might forego the city 
with its gayety, if one were with one’s beloved hus- 
band.” 

Pia had spoken those words sweetly, but Lea per- 
ceived the thrust, and a slight blush overspread her 
cheeks. 

"Certainly, certainly,” cried she hastily: "yet one 
V longs for society! ” 

"Is there no society in your neighborhood?” asked 
Pia. 

Lea’s eyes sparkled; by that question the con- 
versation would be turned into the wished-for chan- 
nel. 


t9 


290 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“My intercourse is limited to the Fortunats,” said 
she; “but at the castle of Banesti things are unfor- 
tunately not very bright. Apropos, I had almost for- 
gotten to give you Fraulein Florica’s love. Poor 
girl!” She sighed deeply. 

“Is Florica so ill?” cried Pia, startled. 

“She is no worse nor no better than usual, but she 
suffers a great deal on account of the misfortunes of 
her family.” 

“I am surprised,” said Pia, and her voice was 
slightly agitated, “that until now I have heard noth- 
ing of this trouble; may I beg of you to tell me 
more?” 

“Four words will tell you all: Herr Fortunat is 
ruined.” 

“Ruined?” cried Pia. 

“Yes, alas! Banesti only belongs to him in name, 
and if a miracle i.s not performed, in two or three 
months his estate will be sold at auction. Madame 
Fortunat is in despair, poor Florica has almost wept 
herself blind — it is terrible! Can you now understand 
why under such circumstances life at Banesti is not 
pleasant? ” 

Pia at those words turned pale; she gazed silently 
before her, a vague suspicion rose within her. Did 
Lea know in what relations she stood to Jonel? — “I 
pity poor Florica with all my heart,” said she softly. 

“My heart too aches everytime I see the poor child,” 
continued Lea; “but she- hopes that Herr Fortunat 
will succeed in bettering his condition with his son’s 
assistance. ” 


JONEL FORTUNAT 291 

Pia started, a dread fear possessed her, but she con- 
trolled herself. 

“With his son’s assistance?*’ asked she, and her 
voice trembled somewhat. “What do you mean by 
that?” 

“As far as I know,” said Lea, smiling, “Jonel is in 
Bucharest in search of a wealthy bride; if he succeeds, 
which I do not doubt, in winning the heart and hand 
of some rich girl, part of her dowry will be used to 
pay Herr Fornmat’s most pressing debts The affair 
is very simple, as you see.” Pia looked speechlessly 
at Lea, who continued indifferently: “Jonel is a very 
handsome and promising young man as I have heard, 
he has attracted some attention here, and I should 
certainly not be surprised were he to make a brilliant 
match. ’’ 

“So you think,” asked Pia, “that JonePs object is 
to obtain a large dowry?” 

“Considering the state of his father’s finances I do 
not think it improbable.” 

“That would be shocking!” escaped Pia’s lips. 

“You judge too severely, Fraulein Pia!” 

“I judge according to my heart, madame!” 

“But the heart does not always judge aright; put 
yourself in Jonel’s place; his family’s fate depends 
upon him, and if he can adjust matters by a wealthy 
marriage, it would be heartless of him to refuse to do 
so.” 

“I agree with you, madame, but then he should make 
no secret of it, he should say that he — ” 

“How do you know that he does not?” asked Lea. 


292 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


Pia was not prepared for that question; a blush suf- 
fused her cheeks, the tears came into her eyes. Sud- 
denly, however, it occurred to her that Lea had not 
turned the conversation into that channel without some 
purpose. “She must know my relations to him,” she 
thought. And as she said those words to herself, she 
regained her presence of mind. Her face grew grave, 
she looked searchingly at Lea; and as they looked at 
one another so fixedly, it seemed as if each read the 
other’s inmost thoughts. 

“Madame Valsamaki, “ began Pia, coldly, “I beg to 
inform you that Herr Jonel Fortunat visits at our 
house; are you aware of that?” 

“I have heard of it.” 

“He is a suitor for my hand; was that known to 
you? ” 

“No! ” returned Lea firmly. 

“He loves me,” escaped hastily from Pia^s lips, 
“you did not know all this?” 

“He loves you?*' said Lea, and her lips quivered. 
“Indeed I did not know that^ and I pray 3 onto forgive 
me for having been so indiscreet!” 

“I cannot really believe what you have just told 
me,” cried Pia, her self-control deserting her; “I 
know Herr Fortunat to be an honorable man, and I do 
not believe that he is only seeking my hand for the 
reasons you have mentioned; indeed I cannot allow 
you to say such things, for I love him and cannot have 
the man who is dear to me, insulted!” 

“I intended no insult,” said Lea as she rose. “Igno- 
rant of the relations between you and Herr Jonel For- 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


293 


tunat, at your request I told you the state of his fam- 
ily affairs just as they are; if you wish further infor- 
mation, you can obtain it from .Herr Tschukee; how- 
ever, I think it very kind and very praisewoi thy of you 
to take Jonel^s part — still I do not see why it should 
be considered so terrible for him to strive for a large 
marriage portion! What young man would not do it? 
I do not see therefore, why you should excite your- 
self.” 

"But I understand very well,” cried Pia, “why you 
cannot ! ” 

A malicious glance darted from Lea's eyes; she 
laughed shrilly. 

“It grieves me deeply to be obliged to destroy your 
illusion; it would be very nice if one could follow the 
dictates of one’^ heart; one reads of such things in 
romances, but stern reality forbids them. One marries 
because one must! How can Jonel keep himself? 
And if you are so fully convinced that he loves you, 
what does it matter to you if another motive besides 
love causes him to sue for your hand? I beg of you 
once more not to be angry with me. Farewell!” She 
held out her hand to Pia, some one knocked, Jonel 
entered, he stopped at the door in surprise, Lea nod- 
ded slightly to him and left the saloon. A painful 
silence followed. Pia broke it; she took several steps 
toward Jonel and looking in his eyes, said in a voice 
which trembled tearfully: 

“Herr Fortunat, unfortunately until now I have met 
few people who inspired me with confidence in them; 
you were one of those few; I felt happy in the knowl- 


294 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


edge that you were not indifferent to me — I felt proud 
to think that you had given me your love; I will con- 
fess to you candidly, I must do so, for Madame Val- 
samaki has awakened within me doubts which torture 
me — but I do not trust that woman. I beseech you there- 
fore to be frank with me; I shall not be angry with 
you.” She paused. “Do you love me, Jonel?” con- 
tinued she, her eyes cast down, “would you have loved 
me had I been poor, if you had found me in poverty?” 

He looked at her with a mournful smile. 

“Do you remember, Fraulein Pia, what I said to 
you a few days ago? That one should not rebel were 
one’s spiritual eyes to be stricken with blindness, for 
one then could not see one’s own lack of character, 
one’s own misery, and that of others. Perhaps now 
you will understand those woids; but there are some 
people to whom that lack of character is peculiar, and 
they go through life smilingly, with a bold front. 
Others again are led astray by chance, by fate; misery 
makes them hypocrites, liars. I belong under tliat cat- 
egory — I have been playing a deceitful game; I came 
hither with the contemptible object of winning your 
hand, for reasons which Madame Valsarriaki has proba- 
bly told you of; that that game became earnest does 
not mend matters, for I, finding you so good, so beau- 
tiful, felt suddenly inspired with a deep love for you. 
You have a perfect right to despise me; and yet, Frau- 
lein Pia, have a little pity on me; you do not know 
how much I have suffered, what I still suffer; last 
night I thought it all over; I wondered if I should take 
that final step, if I should ask for your hand, and I 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


295 


came to no decision. I was going to trust to chance, 
but chance exposed my cards — I am thankful. And 
now, farewell, Fraulein Pia. Behind enough to make 
my adieux to your mother! ” 

He turned to go; she grasped his hand. 

“Shall you not come again, Jonel?” she cried in de- 
spair. 

“No,” cried he shortly, then turned and left the 
room. 


XXVIII 


Upon a certain Sunday, not many weeks later, at 
all the street corners was to be seen the announce- 
ment that on that evening the tragedy "Mihai, the 
Brave,’* by Jonel Fortunat, would be produced for the 
first time. 

The dress rehearsal which had been held the pre- 
ceding evening had been satisfactory, and everyone 
looked forward to great success. Jonel had attended 
that rehearsal, which lasted until two o’clock in the 
morning, and spent the rest of the night at an ale- 
house, talking about his play with Herr Tscuhkee and 
the actor who played the title-role. When he returned 
home, morning had already dawned. He did not go 
to bed but threw himself into an easy-chair and fell 
into a doze. 

All of his experiences of the past three weeks rose 
up before him in his dreams. A new world had been 
opened to him and he had been cordially welcomed. 
His rare beauty, his melancholy, the magical charm 
of his poetical nature had taken by storm the actresses’ 
hearts; the actors were struck by his gravity, by the 
artistic knowledge which he exhibited at the rehearsals, 
and their regard he won by his sociabilit}^ by his mod- 
esty and by his agreeable, genial manner. The friv- 

296 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


297 


olous theatrical world offered him diversion. Like a 
thirsty man at a spring, who, without questioning if 
the water be pure or not, takes a deep draught, he 
threw himself into all the dissipations and enjoyment 
of that new social circle, passed the nights in revelry 
with his companions and was drawn deeper and deep- 
er into the net by Culianu and Tschukee. 

"I cannot help my father, come what may.” With 
those words he sought to quiet his conscience when 
he thought of his family’s troubles. “Imitate Tschukee,” 
he told himself whenever Pia’s image and with it re- 
proachful feelings arose; “he scorns the world and the 
people in it, he scorns even himself, believes in noth- 
ing, and yet he is happy and enjoys the days as they 
come. Imitate Culianu, he is a veritable man-of-the- 
world; he thinks everything lovely, lovable and life 
worth living. They are both right, vogue la galere. 
Three cheers for life and poetry which is only a sweet 
intoxication ! ” 

But although he tried to deceive himself by such 
words, he did not succeed; he could not conquer that 
secret dislike to his present mode of life; he could 
not imitate Tschukee, who, albeit mingling with such 
degraded persons, seemed to retain his position; and 
he was too proud, too high-minded, like Culianu to 
feel happy in a moral degradation. Even his play, 
the rehearsals of which he superintended daily, did not 
comfort or strengthen him 

Was it really poetry? Were those really people, those 
forms which appeared upon the stage? Why did 
Tschukee smile so strangely, so mockingly, so express- 


298 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


ively whenever he questioned him? He was horrified 
when he thought that the ennobling consciousness of 
being a poet might be dispelled; and if such a thing 
were to come to pass, did his faith in his poetical 
calling vanish, his most beautiful dreams would be 
o’er— dreams of unutterable happiness, of achieving 
great things — of pleasing and making others happy, 
by some great work proclaiming himself a son of his 
countr}^ — of winning the laurel wreath, and laying it 
at the feet of a beloved. “At your feet, Florica, you 
poor sufferer, who take so much interest in my welfare, 
and at yours, Pia, my sweet, lovely, coy one!” 

He murmured those words in his sleep, and sud- 
denly it seemed to him as if he heard thundering ap- 
plause which grew louder and louder, as if he were 
standing before the curtain, in front of him a sea of 
people, who applauded and called out his name so that 
it echoed through the house; he however saw nothing 
but one face, in a box, he only saw Pia;' she was very 
pale, but her eyes, those sweet, dark blue orbs, beamed 
with happiness and pride. Oh, how happy those 
glances made him! He smiled and opened his eyes. 
The door creaked, Jonel sprang up, before him stood the 
Jewish banker, Moses Grunspecht, who smiled, bowed 
and stroked his red beard. 

“Pardon me for disturbing you, “ said he, but it is 
already ten o’clock, you know!” 

“Ah it is you!” said Jonel, after having stared ab- 
sently at him a second or two. “What brings you here?” 

“Principally to see how you are, and it seems to 
me you are not very well. Several months ago, when 


JONEL FORTUr^AT 


299 


I had the pleasure and honor of seeing you for the 
first time at Banesti, you were heathly and bloom- 
ing. Now you are pale and thin and have dark circles 
under your eyes; ah, country air, you know, is very 
different!” Unasked, he took a chair, rested his 
chin on his left hand and continued: ”I am about to 
take the liberty of asking you a question, but first I 
should like to remind you of several things. May I 
offer you a cigarette?” Redrew from his breast-pocket 
a golden tobacco pouch, took from it a cigarette, hand- 
ed it to Jonel and began: “You were present at 
Banesti the last time that I spoke to your father 
about the conditions of our little affair ; you know that 
I hold a mortgage upon Banesti which is almost equal 
to the value of the estate; you know that besides that 
I have notes from your father to the value of several 
hundred thousand francs. You remember that I al- 
lowed your father three months grace upon the payment 
of those notes; you know — ” 

“I know,” interrupted Jonel, angrily, “that you bought 
up those notes at forty per. cent less than their nomi- 
nal value.” 

The banker shrugged his shoulders. 

“Business, dear young sir; notes are goods; fish — 
decayed fish — one can buy cheap. Well as we said, 
three months; the time was up the day before yester- 
day, the notes are still in my possession. What would 
you advise me to do, young sir?” 

Jonel did not seem to have heard that question; he 
gazed loweringly into the hard, cold, sly face of the 
Jew. That was the man who had led his father into 


300 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


all those speculations, who had woven a web about 
him until he was completely in his power; that was the 
man in whose hands the fate of his family lay, and 
who mercilessly, like Shylock, demanded his bond. 
A feeling, a mixture of hate and contempt arose 
within him — he seemed to comprehend why the con- 
sciousness of relationship to that race, a type of which 
stood before him, pained him — but that feeling was 
only momentary; it quickly vanished when the image of 
another Jew presented itself; Zilibi Psantir’s im- 
age. 

“What would you advise me to do?” Herr Grun- 
specht repeated. 

“To wait.” 

“Your father advised me to do the same and in- 
formed me that very soon two events might take place 
which would alter his condition; he hopes for a favor- 
able result in his suit against the farmers of Banesti, 
and for your betrothal to Fraulein Pia Dobrescu. I 
do not count much on the first hope, you know: I 
know all about suits that last twenty years. I myself 
have one ten years old; but the second hope is worth 
something, and if it were true, I would wait even a 
year, but I have been told that you have broken off 
with Fraulein Dobrescu— however, people talk a great 
deal, and therefore I came to ask you if what they 
say is true or not. ” 

“It is true!” cried Jonel. 

“Well, well,” said Herr Grunspecht with a draw), 
“so it is true. But there are other rich girls; I will 
tell you what; marry another girl ! Shall I name some? ” 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


301 


‘I pray you say no more of this matter/’ said Jonel 
rising. 

Herr Grunspecht. likewise rose. 

'I shall then be forced to take my rights; is that 
wrong? Banesti will’ be sold and people will say that 
/have ruined your father. Is that not so? And you 
could prevent all that if you, you know, would look a 
about amongst the Bojars daughters instead of writ- 
ing plays which bring nothing in. I have the honor 
of bidding you adieu!” _ 


XXIX 


Herr Dobrescu’s house resumed its usual, miserable 
air when Jonel no longer enlivened it. Madame Do- 
brescu could obtain no satisfaction from her daughter, 
and Herr Tcshukee either did not wish to or could 
not tell her clearly why Jonel did not put in an ap- 
pearance. She therefore turned to her husband, who had 
given her to understand that he was in possession of 
the key to JonePs mysterious behavior. At first Herr 
Dobrescii pretended to be very indignant. 

“I am of no consequence in this house — I am a nonen- 
tity; did anyone ask me if I consented that Jonel should 
come here as a suitor? No! And yet my daughter’s 
happiness was involved, and I should think a father 
would have the right to say something in the matter! " 

But as Madame Dobrescu urged him more, he began 
to soften. 

“I have been making inquiries,” he explained, “and 
have heard something from Herr Culianii; the matter 
stands thus: JonePs father is head over ears in debt, 
he is on the verge of bankruptcy. Herr Fortunat 
seems to have planned to escape from his misfortune 
through JonePs marriage, in the hope that out of the 
dowryhe might obtain a sufficient sum of money to mend 
his affairs. Therefore our child was not sought, but her 
fortune \ Pia seems to have heard this, she and Jonel 

302 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


303 


very probably had some words about it, and I know 
Pia; she undoubtedly showed him the door, and she 
did right. Moreover I anticipated all this; and if you, 
my dear wife, had consulted your husband at first, 
you would have avoided all this scandal, for a scandal 
there will surely be.” 

Madame Dobrescu burst into tears, but soon re- 
gained her composure, heaped reproaches upon her 
husband, and declared that it was his duty to tell 
her unasked all that he knew about Herr Fortunat’s 
circumstances. 

Herr Dobrescu allowed the storm of indignation to 
break over his head; when it ended he assumed an 
air of authority and said: 

“Your agitation I can understand, your anger I 
pardon; it comes from a mother's heart which is con- 
cerned about a daughter’s happiness, only that anger 
is not turned in the proper direction.” 

Herr Lascar Dobrescu did not utter those words 
without having well weighed them; it only lacked 
two days of the first, on which date he received his 
monthly allowance, and he did not consider it advisa- 
ble to enter into any dispute with his wife so near 
the, to him, very important event. 

Madame Dobrescu was very much grieved at her 
husband's disclosure. That JonePs family was not 
wealthy, that he had nothing but his talent and 
his trust in the future, she knew, but that her daugh- 
ter' s wealth was to serve to restore their ruined for- 
tune, that Jonel for that reason only wished to marry 
her Pia — her dear, beautiful child~was new to her; 


304 


JOJ^EL FORTUNAT 


it vexed her and wounded deeply her maternal pride. 
vSo she had been deceived in Jonel, in that hump- 
backed hypocrite Tschukee, and in that old witch 
Falutza, who had contrived the plot; but she would 
show them all that Madame Dobrescu was not to be 
trifled with, and first of all Herr Tschukee should be 
made to feel the weight of her anger; but the hump- 
back was not at all disconcerted when she, pacing the 
salon excitedly, reproached him with having deceived 
her, with having by means of Jonel tried to rob her, for 
she maintained that a marriage under such circum- 
stances would have been simply robbery. But if they 
had blinded her — Madame Dobrescu — they had not 
succeeded so well with Pia, who had told Jonel in a 
way — and as Madame Dobrescu did not know in what 
way, she paused abruptly and put her handkerchief 
to her eyes. 

Herr Pantasi Tschukee with a smile listened to 
that torrent of words, then he said: 

“/ do not take the matter so tragically; I am very 
much mistaken if those two young people are not in 
love, and that is the principal thing; it may be that 
originally Jonel thought of the dowry in order by 
means of the same to assist his father, which, I think, 
would be much more honorable than the use to which 
most young men would put a fortune — that is, to gam- 
ble it away; but now he loves Pia — I know it — and he 
would marry her, were she as poor as a church-mouse. 
Now 3^ou know how affairs are, you can make your 
daughter's property safe from the grasp of a future 
son-in-law; wherefore all this excitement, this fuss 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


305 


and those tears? Let things take their own course. 
Jonel, who is very sensitive, is now drowning his 
sorrow in gay company; he will come back and all 
will end happily.” 

Those calm, quiet words were as balsam to the^ 
heart of Madame Dobrescu, who could flare up as 
easily .as she could be appeased and conciliated. She 
took an especial pleasure in the thought that her hus- 
band could not triumph over her. 

“All will come right,” said she to herself. She 
tried to comfort Pia, although the latter did not seem 
in need of consolation; yet the maternal eye pierced 
the daughter’s apparent indifference, she noticed that 
her every word, her every movement, her every gesture 
was forced. But though Madame Dobrescu took es- 
pecial pains she could not reach her daughter’s heart. 
Whenever she turned the conversation upon Jonel, Pia 
would say gravely that she could not understand why 
her mother took such an interest in Jonel. 

He was a young man, no better nor no worse than 
the generality, she said one day. If he no longer 
called, he probably had his reasons for not doing so; 
perhaps the actresses afforded him more amusement, 
and if he did not come again it would make no differ- 
ence to her — indeed, she should like it; but she pitied 
poor Tica, the dear boy was so fond of Jonel and 
longed to see him. All that, Pia said so excitedly, 
so hastily, in such a tearful voice that Madame Do- 
brescu promised Pia that she would never mention the 
subject again; and she kept her word, Jonel was never 
spoken of. The fact that he had visited the Dobres- 


20 


30G 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


cus and had been looked upon as Pia’s lover, seemed 
to have entirely faded from the memory of everyone, 
only Tica did not forget him; whenever Pia in the 
evening finished playing she read in the eyes of the 
poor idiot: where is Jonel? 

A few days after JonePs last visit he had asked Pia 
the question directly, but she had forbidden him to 
mention it, so he no longer spoke it, but he would 
look at her mutely and she understood that glance — she 
understood it, for try as she would to eradicate the im- 
age of that beloved man from her mind, though she 
summoned her pride to her aid, she could not forget 
him. It was rooted in her soul like some magical 
power, the sensation was not a sweet one which filled 
her heart, but rather a burning, tormenting, passionate 
feeling, and she had no one in whom she could con- 
fide. She dreaded speaking to her mother of those 
things; it seemed almost like desecration to put her 
inmost thoughts into cold, plain words, to explain 
why her love had so quickly flown, and at the same 
time, she clung with all the fibers of her soul to the 
thought that he loved her; she repeated the words he 
had addressed to her on his last visit; she sought to 
free him from all guilt, to clear every blemish from 
his image. Had it really been her fortune only which 
had charmed him? Had not his every word, his every 
expression, his very eyes glowed with deep passionate 
sentiment? And were not his last words with which he 
had condemned himself so harshly, his odd behavior, 
unmistakable proof of the disappointment he felt? 
Could a hypocrite speak — think — so? The more she 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


307 


pondered and brooded over it, the more disinterested 
seemed Jonel to her, and even her father’s ironical 
remark that at the present time he was seeking diver- 
sion and amusement in the company of licentious ac- 
tresses, was not sufficient to shake her faith in him. 
And when she regained her confidence in him, her 
former quiet, melancholy gayety returned, but she was 
often terrified by thoughts of Lea; she could not, al- 
though she often reflected upon it, understand the part 
which Lea had played in the matter. Did she love 
Jonel? Was it jealousy that had prompted her to 
disclose to her his family’s circumstances? What did 
it concern her? What difference did it make to her, 
a married woman, if Jonel loved her or not? 

Had there ever been anything between them? Had 
she any claim upon him? 

That seemed an impossibility, for Jonel had only 
returned to Banesti from abroad a few months before 
Lea’s marriage. All those questions whirled througn 
her brain and she sought in vain for a satisfactory an- 
swer. Oh, if she could only see Jonel once more and 
speak to him, she would ask him that question and 
he would answer it truthfully! She still hoped that 
he would come; it seemed incredible to her that he 
should not feel, not suspect how much she longed for 
him. And when they had once had an explanation, 
when he had told her all, then everything would be 
all right; then she would induce her mother to assist 
his poor father. But one week passed, and yet another, 
still Jonel came not. Then she read in the newspaper 
that his play was to be produced; he had often told 


308 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


her of his tragedy, and each time his eyes had sparkled 
animatedly as he depicted the hero of his poem! How 
his whole being seemed moved when he related that 
old, celebrated tradition! How handsome he was at 
such times! In the heart of such a man could a dis- 
honorable thought find birth? No, never! 

The nearer drew the evening upon which Jonel’s play 
was to be produced, the more her feverish unrest in- 
creased, and it took all her will-power to conceal the 
same from her mother’s watchful eyes. 

At last the anxiously awaited evening arrived, and 
she sat in a box in the brilliantly lighted house with her 
father and mother; she looked through her lorgnou at 
the other boxes, the parquet, the entire house, but no- 
where could she see Jonel. Friends and acquaintances 
entered the box and greeted her; she was scarcely 
conscious of it; in a few moments the play would 
commence, it seemed to her an eternity, suddenly she 
started, the curtain was raised, she leaned back in 
her seat as if she feared that her face might betray 
what was passing within her mind. Her gaze was 
fixed upon the stage and when at the end of the act 
a storm of applause rang through the house, a blush 
suffused her cheeks, and when she saw all the ani- 
mated faces, when she overheard from the next box 
praises of the first act, when even her father in his 
most condescending maimer asserted: “Jonel has 
undoubtedly great poetical talent,” she felt as proud, 
as happy, as if the applause had been nieant for her. 

The second act began, the first scene charmed the 
audience, and when at the close of the same they 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


309 


thundered their applause, when hundreds of voices 
called the author^ s name her heart almost ceased beat- 
ing. 

Jonel stepped upon the stage. He bowed; he was 
deathly pale; suddenly for one short moment he 
raised his eyes to the box in which Pia sat, and it 
seemed to her as if a sorrowful smile flitted over his 
face, she followed his eyes, she saw them glance at 
another box opposite her; she sank back in her chair. 
There sat Lea, and beside her, Herr Tschukee; she 
must have entered the theater during the second act, 
for a short while before that box had been unoccupied. 
Pia drew her breath with difficulty, th*e feeling of hap- 
piness which had possessed her, had vanished; she bit 
her under lip with her small, white teeth, while her 
glowing eyes stared at Lea, whose wonderful beauty at- 
tracted much attention; Pia noticed it; she saw that 
opera glasses were leveled at her, she heard exclama- 
tions of admiration called forth by Lea’s loveliness. 
The third act had already begun, but Pia knew noth- 
ing of it ; the play, which had so much delighted her, 
she cared no longer for; her enjoyment had flown the 
moment that Jonel’ s and Lea’s eyes met; and as she 
gazed on that magnificent, voluptuous, fascinating 
woman, with the fiery eyes*, she saw clearly that Jonel 
loved — must love — her. She could have wept; all her 
hopes, all her sweet dreams had fled; her heart was 
heavy and sad as if some nameless misfortune had be- 
fallen her. 

The curtain fell for the last time; applause again 
rang through the house; Jonel’ s name was called. 


310 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


Herr Culianu handed him a laurel wreath, indeed; 
but it was all very indistinct to Pia, who sat there lost 
in sad thoughts. What did all that concern her? 
What was it to her that Jonel was applauded? Was 
not a woman sitting in one of the boxes who smiled 
at him, for whom his heart beat in return? 

“A truly glorious success! ” she heard her father 
exclaim. “Come, Pia!” 

She awoke as if from a dream. 


XXX 


It was almost midnight when Jonel with hasty steps 
left the theater; he had with difficulty freed himself 
from the embraces of the actors, the congratulations 
of the ladies, the hand-shaking of friends and acquaint- 
ances, he felt the necessity after all the excitement 
of the evening of being alone; he wandered aimlessly 
through the streets, his heart swelling with a blissful 
sensation of happiness. His success of that day had 
mounted to his brain like wine; at last,at last, after long 
weary weeks, he, for the first time, again felt happy 
and as he walked along he lived through once more in 
spirit all the delightful moments of the evening; he 
saw himself upon the stage, he heard thundering ap- 
plause, his name resounded in his ears, he saw Pia 
and Lea, and his heart leapt almost into his throat 
when he recalled to mind the fact that both of those 
w^omen who played so important a part in his life, had 
been the witnesses of his triumph. 

“How delighted poor Florica will be,” thought he, 
“when Lea tells her of my success, when she learns 
that one of my dearest dreams has been fulfilled, that 
a gift from the gods has fallen to my lot, for which 
others strive in vain, that my words, my figures have 
inspired an audience — and my father — ” He stopped 
thoughtfully, he had urgently besought his father to 

311 


313 


JONEL FORTUhlAT 


come to Bucharest in order to be present at the first 
representation of his play; only the day before had he 
written another letter, but in vain. What was going 
on at Banesti? Had trouble made him unfeeling and 
extinguished every spark of paternal pride? He shook 
his head impatiently. No, that day he wished to for- 
get everything that would remind him of his cares, 
that day he would not allow anything to interfere with 
his happiness! But once awakened, those thoughts 
were not so easily dispelled, try as he would to rid 
himself of them. 

“I will seek company,” he said to himself; he has- 
tened to the restaurant whither after a representation 
rhe actors usually repaired. It was on the “Theater- 
platz, ” where yet, notwithstanding the lateness of the 
hour, there was a great deal of bustle, droschkes rat- 
tled along, upon the sidewalks pedestrians sauntered, 
the cafes and restaurants even were still lighted and 
filled with guests. Looking through the ’s^indows of 
an elegant restaurant, opposite the theater, Jonel saw 
seated at a long table several actors and actresses, and 
at their head Herr Culianu. 

They were laughing and drinking; at the sight of 
them, he changed his mind, he did not feel inclined to 
spend the remainder of* the night in such noisy com- 
pany, he turned upon his heel and concluded to go in 
search of Herr Tschukee. He had that evening only ex- 
changed a few hasty words with him, and it occurred to 
him that the humpback had been very pale and excited. 
Of late their friendship had not been quite so warm, 
although Jonel did not know how to account for it. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


313 


“Tschukee, ” he told himself, “may perhaps feel 
hurt because I have neglected him the past two weeks; 
he would be right were he to call me ungrateful and 
selfish; how much pains that man has taken that my 
name should become known, that my tragedy should 
be accepted! How could he help the relations be- 
tween Pia and me having been broken? No, no, my 
dear Tschukee, I will apologize, and show you that I 
know how to appreciate you — and that immedi- 
ately. “ 

Several 'minutes later he burst into the apartments 
of the deformed lawyer, who did not seem at all sur- 
prised at the lateness of his visit. 

“It is very kind of you to call upon me to-day; I 
was just about to give myself up to mournful thoughts, 
but now that I see your eyes beaming so exultantly I 
will join in your happiness; there are, anyway, happy 
people in this world, are there not, Jonel?” 

“To-day indeed I feel very happy,” cried Jonel, 
seizing Tschukee’ s hand, “yes, very happy, and I owe 
it all to you!” 

“I only played a very secondary part in it, dear 
Jonel, but in order that your happiness may be com- 
plete, we must manage to regain your former position 
with regard to Fraulein Pia. Did you notice how 
eagerly she listened to your play?” 

Jonel gazed gloomily before him. 

“My relations with Pia cannot be re-established 
until I am able to appear before her as a man of po- 
sition.” 

“But your family, Jonel, your family--” 


314 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


*‘Do not remind me of my family,” implored Jonel, 
“at least not to-day! ” 

“Very well," said Tschukee, “we will not touch upon 
that subject to-day. It is one o’clock,” continued he> 
taking out his watch, “I am too excited to sleep; by 
your feverish, glistening eyes I can tell that you too 
have no desire to rest. How would it be if we were to 
mingle with the people awhile, as the Russian nihil- 
ists say?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean the following: To-day I refreshed myself 
for four whole hours with lovely, rhythmical verses; 
I have met civilized, well-dressed gentlemen; I have 
heard the rustle of ladies’ silk skirts; I have admired 
elegant toilettes, alabaster arms and necks, listened to 
intelligent arguments; I have been forced to listen to 
Herr Culianu’s speech on the past, present and future 
of the Roumanians, and their literature; in a word, I 
have been in a very highly cultured atmosphere, but 
that atmosphere turns my stomach, and in order to 
restore it to its usual healthy condition, I shall repair 
to a tavern which is neither cultured nor refined, 
where 1 shall drink unadulterated Roumanian wine, 
where I shall find uncouth but honest fellows, who 
do not care a fig for the past, present, and future of 
Roumanian literature and the Roumanians. There 1 
shall find my friend the Bohemian musician, Dimicu, 
who will play some simple Roumanian strain for me 
and will sing for me, while I shall muse on all sorts 
of things, on whatever comes into my head. Wil] 
you accompany me? ” 

“I will go with you!” said Jonel rising. 


XXXI 


*‘La Ursu, ” to the Bear, so ran the inscription upon 
the sign-board of the inn toward which Jonel and 
Tschukee strolled. Of the bear himself little remained 
except the head, from his nose depended two very 
natural-looking sausages, a reminder that Herr Pilibi, 
the proprietor, served excellent sausages. The most 
regular and thirstiest frequenter of the “Bear,” was 
the musician, Dimicu, who charmed the deformed law- 
yer with his music. 

Years before, Dimicu had been popular; there did 
not a Bojar wed but Dimicu^s fiddle was heard, but he 
did not keep up with the times; he would not, like so 
many of his comrades, adapt himself to the modern 
taste and add new pieces to his old repertoire. 

“I am a lautar,” (a gipsy musician), he would say, 
and he who asks me for anything but my old melo- 
dies is not fit to be played for!” 

Other musicians, who were more progressive, got 
beyond him, the members of his orchestra deserted 
him; for several years he tried his luck in the prov- 
inces, but unsuccessfully, and one day he returned to 
the residence; his pride was broken, he played what= 
ever was required of him; he only played however 
when necessity compelled him; if he had a few coins 

315 


316 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


in his pocket he would sit at the “Bear” and drink. 
Sometimes when he was very tipsy, Herr Pilibi, who 
held his fiddle in pawn, had to hand it over to him 
and then Dimicu gave pleasure to others. 

Upon this special day he sat silently and sadly in a 
corner of the roomy bar, in which notwithstanding the 
lateness of the hour, a number of the lower class of 
people, somewhat intoxicated, were seated, for whom 
three musicians were, playing. The proprietor, Herr 
Pilibi, a tall, thin man, with a fur cap on his bald 
head, sat half asleep upon a wooden bench next the 
show window in which stood bottles filled with brandy, 
which sparkled in all the colors of the rainbow. 

When Jonel and Tschukee entered the close, smoky 
room, which was dimly lighted by two lamps, the 
tavern-keeper sprang up, rubbed his heavy eyes, 
bowed humbly before them, and opened a door which 
led into a smaller, neater room, intended for the use 
of a better class of guests. 

“Red or white?” asked the host. 

“Red, Pilibi!” said Tschukee; “and send Dimicu 
here.” Soon after a bottle of red wine and two 
glaf'Ses were placed upon the table. Tschukee 
poured some out. Then the door opened and Dimicu 
entered; he was a short man, in a threadbare “talae” 
with wide sleeves. Upon his head he wore a round 
cap with a leather peak projecting over his forehead. 
His face was small, pale, with a stubbly gray mus- 
tache, a large, bulbous nose, and bushy eyebrows 
overshading two small, glowing black eyes with heavy 
lids. 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


317 


“How goes it, Dimicu?” asked Tschukee. 

“Badly,* gracious sir,” said Dimicu irritably. “I 
have to drink gin, and red wine suits me better.” 

“You shall drink as much red wine as you want, 
but you must play! Call the others! I am in an ill- 
humor to-day, Dimicu, you must exorcise the demon 
that torments me. I am Saul, you shall be my David. 
And now, Jonel, let us clink glasses — to whom?” 

“To Poetry!” cried Jonel, raising his glass. 

“To Poetry, you incorrigible enthusiast!” smiled 
Tschukee, “no, no, what would poetry be without 
women — no, we will drink to the women — to two 
lovely women — Lea and Pia, their healths! ” They 
clinked and both emptied their glasses at a draught. 

“Now Dimicu,” he turned to the Bohemian, who in 
the meantime had brought in his three companions, 
“play! ” 

Dimicu seized his fiddle, and his bow flew lightly 
and softly over the strings. Tschukee lit a cigar, 
seated himself cross-legged upon a divan and gazed 
meditatively at the cloud of smoke he puffed out; 
the simple, mournful strain exercised a strange charm 
over him, his heart grew tender and sad, he passed 
his hand over his e3^es. Jonel looked in astonishment 
at his face, which mirrored his deep, inward emotion. 
Was that mocker, that skeptic indeed so sensitive? 

Tschukee seemed to suspect that his young friend 
was asking himself that question; with an im- 
patient gesture he threw away his cigar and said 
harshly: 

“One is sometimes affected, one knows not how or 


318 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


why.” Then he laughed aloud: “Truly, Jonel, I am 
in such a mood as is a poet when Apollo inspires him, 
when a poetical thought arises in his mind and 
takes form, color and life Do you really believe,” 
he added, suddenly growing grave, “that poets have 
the gift of second sight? do you really believe that 
they are vates; that they can penetrate the dark, 
secret depths of our minds and see what is passing 
within us?” 

“I do!” cried Jonel; “and it is a delightful sen- 
sation to be able to sympathize with the joys, the sor- 
rows of others.” 

For a moment Tschukee’s head sank upon his 
breast, then he raised it and sprang up. 

“Quicker tempo, Dimicu, ” cried he, “quicker! ” He 
stopped in front of Jonel, his eyes glowing .with sup- 
pressed fire, “Shakspeare, that prince of poets,.” he 
began, “who with his torch pierced the depths of the 
human mind, has shown us in ‘Richard III.’ that a man, 
though he be ever so ugly, ever so repulsive, can force a 
woman to love him. Why should not that take place 
in reality? Why should not I, for example, if my 
heart were burning with a passionate, all-consuming 
devotion, not be able to force a lovely woman to 
love me? Why not? Because I am deformed, be- 
cause I am ugly, eh?” He filled his glass and emptied 
it with feverish haste. “Where is it written,” he 
continued, excitedly, “that ^only people like you, 
Jonel, can be happy? Tell me the law of nature 
which forces w^omen to love you! Does the form, the 
face alone make the man, or that which glows in the 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


319 


breast or in the brain? Why cannot Lea comprehend 
that?*' He stopped. At the humpback's last words 
Jonel started. “You are startled, my boy,” continued 
Tschukee; “it is surprising that such a crooked creature 
as I am should speculate upon the love of so magnifi- 
cent a woman? But strange things often happen, I 
can, indeed, cite an authenticated, historical fact, 
which I read not long ago and which impressed me. 
Wait, I will seat myself next you, for that raven 
deafens me with his syrinx. Now listen: Louis 
XIV. 's favorite, the Duke de Lauzan, was an ugly, 
repulsive dwarf, but he had brain, a great deal of 
brain and passion, and two beautiful, blooming 
women — do you Lear, Jonel?— fell deeply in love 
with that ugly dwarf. Do you know who those women 
were? The queen of Portugal, and her sister. Made- 
moiselle D' Aumale, and they drew lots to see which of 
the two should marry him; and in order to secure him 
a fortune they agreed that she v/ho lost should enter 
a convent and transfer her property to the winner. 
That is a fact, an indisputable fact, not poetical fic- 
tion, and such a thing might as \^ell happen in these 
days. You laugh?” 

“I am not laughing,” said Jonel, gravely, for he had 
listened eagerly to the humpback’s words, which 
caused a dread, stinging sensation in his heart. Was 
it possible that Lea could love that cripple? He 
looked closely at Tschukee’ s face, as he pondered over 
that question. 

“Examine my face well,” said Tschukee; “it is in- 
credible, is it not, that it could please any woman, 


320 


yONEL FORT UN AT 


and yet, oh, you do not know them — you do not know 
what effect a strong passion has upon them, and — do 
you hear, Jonel, I love that woman deeply, madly. 
To-day when I escorted her from the theater to her 
hotel, I kissed her hand upon taking leave of her; oh, 
how that kiss agitated me, and the glance she cast 
upon me; oh, that glance! ” 

He stopped, breathing heavily. Dimicu smirked. 
Tschukee^s agitation had not escaped him; he had 
however, although as he played he listened, only been 
able to catch and understand a word here and there of 
the humpback’s speech, but that sufficed; he sur- 
mised that a woman was the cause of that passionate 
conduct, and that pleased the old gypsy. People who 
are in love, Dimicu knew from his long experience, if 
handled aright, throw their money about regardlessly. 
“I will worm some out of him to-day,” thought he; 
he laid aside his fiddle, took an accompanying in- 
strument, a kopsa, from one of his companions, took a 
step forward, drew the bow over the strings, leaned 
his head toward his left shoulder, fixed his eyes on 
the ceiling and began to sing a die-away love song, 
whose refrain was a long-drawn out “Of.” It was 
one of those songs in the execution of which Dimicu 
had excelled forty years before. How those songs 
had once been listened to! how often had he at the 
command of some amorous Bojar sung them under 
the windows of young Bojar ladies at the midnight 
hour, and how many golden ducats had fallen to his 
lot! Now all was changed; who cared for Dimicu and 
his old-fashioned songs! And yet, was not one sitting 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


321 


before him who knew how to prize them? Dimicu him- 
self felt moved when he saw the humpback’s eyes 
overflow; that spurred him on, it lent his baritone 
strength and sweetness, his trembling hand touched 
the strings more firmly and the long-drawn-out ”Of” 
sounded very mournful. But suddenly his song was 
interrupted in a very unpleasant manner; disputing 
voices and loud laughter were heard proceeding from 
the bar-room, then a deep, bass voice cried: 

“What does all this mean, eh? Why shall the 
Bojars have the preference even at an inn? why have 
they music while we have none? Is it not enough 
that they rob us of our lands, eh? In a tavern no 
partiality is shown, we are all equal, as we are be- 
fore God, it is not so, Dumitree? And you, Dragosch, 
why do you stand there like Lot’s wife turned to a 
pillar of salt? why do you not smash that old bald- 
head’s bottles and his head in the bargain? Let the 
gypsies come in at once! What! would you bar the 
way? Ha, you shall find out that Father Constan- 
tin’s fists have not grown rusty; one, two, three; now 
will you keep quiet, you bald-head?” 

The thud as of the falling of a body was heard, 
then the door was burst open and upon the threshold 
appeared Father Constantin’s tall form, while behind 
him were visible the Mayor of Banesti, Herr Dumitree 
Velic and Dragosch. They were all three tipsy, but 
Father Constantin was the tipsiest, his nose shone, 
he staggered into the room, but stopped with open 
mouth when Jonel advanced toward him. 

“You here, gracious sir?” stammered he. 


m 


JONEL FORTUNAJ 


"These are old friends of .mine from Banesti," said 
Jonel to Tschukee, who angry at the interruption, had 
started up; "this is the priest of Banesti and these 
two are the yeomen, Dragosch and Dumitree Velic. 
What brings you to the residence?" 

"You seem to have forgotten about our case," said 
the priest, reproachfully; "in two weeks our suit 
comes up before the court of cassation; we are sent 
as delegates, we are to look about for another lawyer; 
can you not, gracious sir, give us some idea to whom 
we can turn?" 

"Leave Jonel out of this matter," cried Tschukee; 
"I know that he sided with you; but you, as a priest, 
must know that the fourth commandment says: 'Honor 
your father and mother!' Moreover I must tell you 
that you are putting yourselves to unnecessary ex- 
pense; the case is as good as decided." 

"We shall see about that!" exclaimed the priest. 

"We will not dispute about that here," said Jonel. 
"You came to drink a glass of wine with us; remain 
with us; we have music, we will be merry." 

"That is a proposition you should not reject," cried 
Tschukee, "and I hope you agree to it! We are, it is 
true, opponents, for you must know that I am, or 
rather, was, Herr Fortunat’s lawyer, but here we will 
be good friends. Pilibi, " cried he, "wine and of the 
very best! And you, Dimicu, see that the frown dis- 
appears from his holiness' brow!" 

The humpback's jovial tone had a visibly good 
effect upon the three delegates; they seated themselves 
silently at the table, and soon after before each one 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


323 


stood a bottle of wine; glasses clinked and Dimicii 
began to play. 

“So you are Herr Fortunat's lawyer?” began Dra- 
gosch. “You think that we shall undoubtedly lose our 
suit? ” 

“That is my firm conviction,” said Tschukee. 

Dragosch gazed for a few moments gloomily before 
him then he asked the priest: “What do you say to 
it?” 

“If we lose the case, then vive Gambetta! ” cried the 
priest, striking his fist upon the table. 

Tschukee laughed aloud. 

“I do not understand you.” 

“Has not' Gambetta,” said Velic, explaining the 
priest’s strmge remark, “proclaimed a Republic in 
France? We will do the same at Banesti; we will 
proclaim a Republic, we will resist violence, we will 
defend our property with our hearts’ blood; we will 
not allow ourselves to be robbed; that is against all 
reason!” 

“Against all reason!” echoed the priest. 

“And we will kill anyone who attempts to drive us 
from our lands!” cried Dragosch with glittering eyes. 

“I like you in that mood, children,” cried the 
humpback, “that is right, you are brave men! Do 
you see, Jonel, only ’mongst the countrymen are 
courageous men to be found. Your healths, children, 
and now drink, for it costs nothing!” 

That command was gladly obeyed; whilst the gypsies 
played indefatigably, glasses were repeatedly filled 
and moods grew merrier. 


324 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


“A hora!” cried Dragosch, rising, “let us dance!’* 

“Yes, let us. dance,’’ cried Tschukee, “I will dance 
too!’’ 

The table was pushed aside. Jonel flung himself 
upon the divan, leaned his weary head against the 
wall and looked smilingly before him. The priest, 
the humpback, Dragosch and Velic joined hands, 
formed a circle and began to dance a hora; the boards 
creaked under the heavy tread of Dragosch’ s and the 
priest’s thick boots, and it was a very comical sight 
to see the humpback and the short, thin burgomaster 
dancing by the side of the other two tall figures. Then 
Dragosch uttered a loud cheer; the priest, whose long 
dark red, fur-trimmed “talae” flew hither and thither, 
followed his example. 

“I can do that too!’’ cried Tschukee, whose face was 
deathly pale and upon whose brow stood large drops 
of perspiration, and he shouted likewise. Suddenly 
he stopped out of breath. “That is enough,” cried 
he, “we must consider Dimicu too! *' 

The music ceased, Tschukee put his hand in his 
pocket, threw Dimicu several gold-pieces, then drew 
out a handful of silver coin and scattered it upon the 
floor. The gypsies, with the exception of Dimicu, fell 
with glowing eyes upon the coins, gathered them up 
eagerly, fell upon one another and tumbled about so 
that Tschukee and the priest almost expired with 
laughter. 

“And now one march to break up with,’’ said 
Tschukee, when the men had collected the last coin 
and taken their places humbly at the door. “The 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


325 


bilJ, Pilibi, I will settle tomorrow. Come, Jonel! ’* 
Jonel took leave of the priest and of Dragosch, who 
were tolerably steady in the knees, while the burgo- 
master crouched in a corner of the room upon the floor 
and talked to himself. To the strains of the Racoczy 
march, which Dimicu played with fire, they left the 
bar-room and stepped out into the cool, fresh air. 


XXXII 


The moon was high in the heavens; they sauntered 
silently through a labyrinth of unpaved streets with 
low cottages separated one from the other by wide 
courts; the poverty and plainness of those cottages was 
somewhat softened by the snow which covered every- 
thing. Finally they reached the center of the town, a 
boulevard, a wide street upon the north side of which 
silent and stately stood the university; opposite that 
stretched a narrow garden, above whose snow-covered 
trees towered the statue of Mihai the Brave. There 
they halted; it was very quiet. Jonel broke the 
silence. 

“How often,” cried he, “have I in the past few 
weeks stood here in the stilly night, looked up at that 
statue, thought of that great prince’s life and asked 
myself: ‘What would you say if you could see your 

nation, the nation you loved so dearly?’” 

“What would he say?” laughed the humpback; 
“listen and I will tell you his answer; it is this: 
‘What I see here is a lie and a fraud, calculated to 
deceive me; you make a show with your constitution 
and your culture, with your journals and academies, 
with your museums and conservatories, with your liter- 
ature and your drama, but in reality it is only hocus- 

326 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


327 


pocus, only a phantom without any substance; your 
false literature, your so-called art, your politics, your 
patriotism —are nothing — you are deceivers, at the best, 
deceived deceivers. Where are the old, noble Bojars, 
who adhered to their duty through thick and thin, who 
sacrificed their hearts’ blood for their fatherland? I 
seek them in vain, I see none but frivolous, insignifi- 
cant people; I cannot find my nation; and^ those I find 
bear the impress of death upon their brows!’ Thus 
would Mihai the Brave speak, Jonel, if life could 
enter that metal; and we, poor miserable creatures, 
we who boast of being descendants of the Romans, 
we cannot even die gracefully like the Roman gladia- 
tors; we cannot cry: 'Ave, Caesar, niorituri te salu- 
tant.’ We are sick people, Jonel, and when unob- 
served we paint our cheeks with the glow of health. 
Pfui Teufel!” He grasped Jonel’s arm and drew 
him along. “One word more,” began he, after a pause, 
“very soon I shall be named as attorney-general. I 
will tell you why I sought that honor. I must live 
near Lea; I cannot help myself. Good night! ” 

Arrived at his lodgings Jonel found upon the table 
a letter from his father which contained only a few 
lines : 

“Florica is very ill; she wishes to see you once 
more. Come immediately to Banesti. I fear the worst 
for the poor child.” 

The letter fell from his hand ; he sank upon 
a couch and covered his face with his hands. 
That was a terrible catastrophe; how delighted 


328 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


he had been to think that Florica would be 
proud of his success; how vividly he had painted 
the time when he should go to Banesti and tell her 
that the form of that hero which had inflamed his boy- 
ish enthusiasm had been placed by him upon the 
stage, that the audience had called for him; he had 
pictured her listening to his words, he had heard her 
silvery laugh and heard her ciy in her childish voice: 

“Did I not always tell you that you were a poet, 
Jonel!” He looked at his watch; it was four o’clock 
in the morning, the next train would leave at eight; 
he hastened into the adjoining room, awoke his valet 
and ordered him to pack his portmanteau at once. 

“Wake me at seven o’clock,” he said, then he threw 
himself dressed upon the couch. 


XXXIII 

Along the main road which led from the town of D. 
to .Banesti flew a sleigh in which Jonel, enveloped in 
furs, was seated. The coachman, an old Jew, flour- 
ished his whip incessantly and occasionally let it de- 
scend upon the backs of the thin steaming horses, and 
at the same time murmured to himself as if to apolo- 
gize for his merciless treatment of them: "What can 
I do? The young gentleman has promised me double 
fare if we arrive at Banesti in two hours — a gold na- 
poleon! That does not happen everyday; a napoleon, 
do you hear?" 

Although the horses traveled along quickly and occa- 
sionally trotted, it seemed to Jonel as if the sleigh 
never moved from the spot; the main road seemed to 
him interminable; he felt strangely anxious — his anx- 
iety was increased by the sight of that broad, snow- 
covered plain, spanned by the dark vault of heaven. 
The small villages through which he drove did not help 
to brighten his spirit; how miserable and poverty- 
stricken everything was; the wretched, squalid huts 
with their thin walls, and small windows many of 
which had paper instead of glass panes; the dirty 
forms of peasants with their lamb’s wool caps who, 
staring silently and gloomily before them, waded in 


830 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


the snow and now and then uttered an inarticulate cry 
with which they spurred on to a quicker pace the small, 
thin, starved oxen which dragged along sleighs heavily 
laden ‘with wood; the unkempt children’s heads, 
which here and there peeped timidly from the doors; 
the deserted church with its wooden bell-tower, the 
shaggy wolf dog which ran barking after the sleigh — 
all that, the dreary, cloudy sky; the bare trees which 
reared their branches high above the snowy carpet, 
and the crows which, croaking in an unearthly manner, 
flew about or perched upon the telegraph wires, look- 
ing down from them gravely — all that was in accord- 
ance with Jonel’s mood. 

How differently had he felt a few months before 
when he saw that neighborhood again after many years! 

How joyfully his breast had swelled; what glad 
liopes he had entertained when Banesti and his ances- 
tral home rose within sight! And now? He was 
torn by a thousand doubts, he had lost faith in him- 
self; his success of the previous day, of what use was 
it? Who were the people who had applauded him? 
People like Culianu or Dobrescu and Tschukee ! 

Was it really worth the trouble of working, of striv- 
ing when everywhere one encountered selfishness, 
coarseness, petty passions, when each and every one, 
as Tschukee said, bore the stamp of death upon his 
brow! He who in spite of all that retains his ideal 
in his breast, finds courage and energy' without look- 
ing to the right *or the left, to carry out his purpose, 
must have a divine fire within him. Was that the 
case with him? Had he not given up almost before 


JGNEL FORTUNAT 


331 


he entered the arena? Had he not waved hither and 
thither like a reed? He had taken up the combat 
with his father and had stopped half way; he had en- 
tertained a passionate love for Lea, and then without 
knowing how it happened, he was drawn into rela- 
tions with Pia; he had deceived Pia and himself. 
And was it not a contemptible game in which Tschu- 
kee and he had participated? What was its object? 
To deceive a poor, noble maiden! He sighed heavily, 
and as he gazed with large, burning eyes into the 
broad plain, he felt as it his life had been robbed of 
its fullness, as if his future were as desolate and 
dreary as the landscape before him. 

While he thought thus and tortured himself with 
questions, Florica’s image arose before him and he 
remembered some melancholy words she had addressed 
to him one day: “When I know that happiness, which 
others grasp, flees from me and grins at me like a 
phantom, with a demoniacal smile — when I know all 
that, I ask myself, what is life to me? Why should 
I grieve that death has marked me for his own? What 
is life to me? It makes no difference to me if I die 
a little sooner or later.” 

At that time he did not understand those words, but 
now he understood them; now he felt how it was to 
desire full, pure joy, to see it glimmer and dance be- 
fore one’s eyes, and not been able to grasp it; now he 
understood Florica’s longing for death. Perhaps her 
wish had been granted. 

At that thought he started as if from a dream. Sev- 
eral hundred paces before him lay the castle, oh, so 


332 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


gloomy, so miserable, as if some terrible misfortune 
had occurred. The gate was open. The sleigh drove 
into the court, up to the steps; Jonel sprang out, handed 
the Jew the promised gold-piece and rushed up the 
steps. No one welcomed him; an indescribable fear 
possessed him, he tottered along the corridor until he 
reached the door which led to Florica’s room. He 
stopped some seconds, then suppressed sobs reached 
his ear. He opened the door and entered, the perfume 
of flowers was wafted toward him; for a second every- 
thing swam before his eyes and he saw, as through a 
mist, lighted tapers and a dark female form which lay 
at the foot of the bed upon its knees, its head buried 
in its hands; he heard sobs and the nasal intonations 
of a priest; he collected himself and drew near the 
bed. Florica lay upon it, her delicate hands crossed 
on her breast, her pale, refined face calm and peace- 
ful, and her eyes closed; death had removed all 
traces of suffering from her face; she looked as if glo- 
rified. Jonel gazed on her long and motionlessly, as if 
he could not comprehend that which lay so plainly 
before him, then he threw himself upon her, covered 
her cold lips with glowing kisses and called her name. 

Was she really dead, poor Florica, who had loved 
him so unselfishly? were those dear, sweet eyes indeed 
closed forever? It seemed to him impossible; he called 
her name again and again. A hand was laid upon 
his shoulder ; before him stood his father, weeping 
quietly; he threw himself into his arms. 


XXXIV 


The north wind blew across the snow-covered plain, 
it roared and raged amongst the trees before the manor 
of Valeni and whistled around the corners of the same. 
Now and then it abated a few minutes as if to gather 
new strength, then silence reigned, until the whistling 
began again and the raging and roaring commenced 
anew; it was sad music, but it accorded well with 
the mood of the sick lord of Valeni, who, wrapped 
in a red silk cover lay in his bed staring into space. 

The lofty, well-warmed room was lighted by a lamp 
suspended from the ceiling and which cast a bluish 
hue upon everything, making the ghastly face of Kerr 
Valsamaki, with its sunken cheeks, with its hollow 
ghastlier, uglier and more repulsive. The bony 
left hand of the sick man with its long, crooked fin- 
gers rested upon a low, iron table next the bed, upon 
which were placed some vials of medicine, a watch 
and a glass of water; he breathed with difficulty; his 
fingers touched the watch and it began to strike. 

“Ten,” murmured he, then he raised his head and 
said in a weak voice: “The roads are blocked. Lea, I 
do not believe the doctor will come.” He listened, 
he expected a reply. “Lea!” cried he, gazing anx- 
iously at his wife who was seated in a fauteuil at the 
window. 


333 


334 


JOr^EL FORT UN AT 


Her head with its black hair, lay upon the back of 
the chair, her eyes were closed, her bosom rose and fell. 
She slept. 

The sick man gazed upon her and something like a 
smile played about his thin, bloodless lips. Oh, how 
lovely, how youthful, how full of life and love was 
that woman, his wife! A sigh escaped him. 

“Not death, oh, not death! “ murmured he, and two 
tears sprang from his eyes; he fel^ them trickle down 
his cheeks and it seemed to him as if those tears had 
relieved him, as if he felt better and stronger. “Why 
should I die?” he thought. “At sixty one still has a 
right to live — and have not thousands of consumptives 
sought and found health in the South, in Italy, in 
Egypt, or some place? If only winter were past, if 
only spring were here!” 

The sick man’s head fell back helplessly upon the 
pillow, but the image of the sleeping woman danced 
before his eyes. 

Poor child! How tenderly she had nursed him of 
late, and how sensible and shrewd she was! How 
well she had managed his business at Bucharest! 
Herr Tscbukee had written him all about it. 

“Your Lea,” so ran the end of the letter, “is in- 
deed a pearl, as soft as a dove and as subtle as a ser- 
pent. ” 

He again called her name. She started up. “Come 
sit by my side, my child,” said he. 

She stood several seconds at the window, still half- 
asleep. 

“How it storms!” said she, shivering slightly. She 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


335 


approached the bed and seated herself next the sick 
man; he took her hand and looked at her ten- 
derly. 

“You look so strange, Lea!” 

“I had a horrible dream,” said she; “it seemed to 
me as if I lay dead in my coffin, yet I heard all that 
was going on about me. I heard voices and I felt them 
lower the coffin into the grave and shovel earth upon 
it; I tried to cry out and I could not, for my throat 
seemed to close. It was horrible! ” added she. 

“That is,” said he, “because you cannot forget poor 
Florica’s death — but dreams are nothing — who thinks 
of dying! Do you know,” added he smiling, “what 
I have decided on? It is now February; in a few 
weeks if it be a little milder we will go to Italy; it is 
lovely there, the Italian climate will cure me and then 
we will go to Paris and live there in great style. 
What do you think about it. Lea?” 

She did not answer at once. 

“What do you think of my plan?” repeated he. 

“To Italy, to Paris!’ cried she, hastily. “Oh, yes, let 
us go, I should like it, I should like to travel far away, 
far out into the world. ” She passed her hand over her 
brow and then said: “I forgot to tell you that a letter 
arrived this evening from Herr Tschukee. He writes 
that he has been appointed state’s attorney in our 
principal district town where he will arrive to-day, 
and that he has transferred our case to Jonel For- 
tunat. We may make ourselves quite easy on that 
score, he writes, for Jonel is an excellent lawyer.” 

“However Jonel is very young,” said Valsamaki, 


33G 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


“but if Tschukee recommends him so highly we can 
trust him with our business, can we not, Lea?” 

“Certainly, certainly! ” said she. “Now do not talk 
any more; the doctor has forbidden you to speak 
much.” 

“Very well, I will be silent; I feel very weary, but 
stay with me awhile, give me your hand!” 

He seized again the hand which she had with- 
drawn, pressed it gently and closed his eyes. She sat 
there, gazing silently before her until his regular 
breathing assured her that he was asleep, then she 
rose, paced the apartment several times and finally 
sank again into the arm-chair by the window. 

And as she sat and mused, occasionally shuddering 
at the remembrance of her dream, and gazed out into 
the darkness and listened to the howling of the storm, 
memory recalled a scene long past; it was just such a 
dark, stormy night, she sat shivering in the miserable, 
bare, white-washed room next the stove, in which crack- 
led some dry branches, and stared at the icicles upon 
the windows and wove all kinds of childish dreams, 
whilst out-doors the storm raged; on the common 
pine table lay a large, thick, open volume of the Tal- 
mud, but her father was not reading, he was looking 
gravely and silently at the eight lighted wax tapers 
which on account of the “Chanuka” festival were fast- 
ened to the edge of the table. Suddenly he seized his 
fiddle and began to play. And as the bow flew over 
the strings and produced a concord of sweet sounds, 
she no 'longer heard the storm outside, she no longer 
felt cold, a fire was kindled in her soul, and her im- 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


837 


agination pictured a world beautiful and bright. And 
as her head drooped and sadness crept over her that 
her dream-world was so uncertain, a gentle hand was 
laid upon her curls. She looked up; upon her rested 
her father’s dark eyes which spoke of unalterable love, 
and he took her upon his knee and petted and kissed 
and told her wonderful stories that he had read in the 
Talmud, and concluded with a true story which, how- 
ever, sounded like a fairy tale, of a poor Jewess, 
named Esther, who became the wife of a great king. 

“Who knows,” he had said, “who knows, . perhaps 
you will some day become a princess like the lovely 
Esther; perhaps great and small, old and young, will 
bow before you.” 

And her childish heart had throbbed violently — and 
that fairy like prophecy had danced before her eyes 
during the long, miserable winter evenings in the 
wretched, bare room; it rose before her when spring 
came, it followed her during the hot days of summer 
as she trudged next her father along the dusty high- 
way from one village to another; and it seemed about 
to be fulfilled upon that day when the lord of 
Valeni for the first time pressed a kiss upon her 
brow. 

And that remembrance recalled other memories; they 
hovered about her and vanished,, until that day loomed 
up, when after many years Jonel stood before her in 
his enchanting beauty, and his melodious voice sound- 
ed in her ear. How insignificant did her husband’s 
feeble form seem next that magnificent man’s ! Where 
were her eyes? How could she have bound herself to 


22 


338 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


that old man? But it was too late. Too late! How 
often during sleepless nights had she repeated that 
fatal word; how had she been tormented by wild 
thoughts, by bold plans! Too late? Why? How 
would it be if she were to break the chains asunder 
which bound her to her husband, amicably, if possi- 
ble, if not, forcibly, if it must be? But was she sure 
of Jonel’s love? In her ears rang the cold, cutting 
words which Tschukee had uttered upon the day on 
which she left Bucharest: 

“Jonel only loved in you the beautiful woman, ma- 
dame, who turned his brain, his brain and not his heart, 
he loved you with the passion of a poet, of an artist, 
which rapidly passes away. But his love for Pia is 
an honorable, deep feeling, because he knows that his 
relations with Pia can and will lead to an honorable 
union; and by this Jonel all so-called moral disreputa- 
bleness is abhorred. He is however a fool. So if you 
feel anything like love for this enthusiast tear it 
from your heart root and branch, the sooner the bet- 
ter !” 

The humpback’s words cut her to the quick, but she 
smiled. Yes, Tscuhkee was right, it had only been a 
kind of fascination which soon died out. If it were 
so, she must forget him. What was Jonel to her? 
Why should she embitter the life which lay so brightly 
before her? In a few weeks she would leave Valeni, 
live in a foreign land, worshiped, admired by other 
men, and when she returned, Tonel would be married 
and she would meet him as an old friend, as a friend 
of her youth. No! she would not meet him; she v/ould 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


339 


return home no more! What attraction had home for 
her? Why should she see Pia day after day? why 
should she see the only man whom she had ever loved 
finding his happiness in the arms of another? But 
would Jonel find that happiness? Was not shd pret- 
tier, more lovable than Pia? Was it possible that he 
loved that overbearing creature? 

“No, no, ” cried she, “he does not love her; it is 
impossible!” She sprang up and with glowing cheeks 
paced the floor. “Impossible! Why?” flew through her 
brain. “What proof of his love has he given me? Oh, 
if he only felt a spark of that fire which burns within 
me, he would be compelled to fly to me, to press me 
to him, and rush out into the wide, wide world; or if 
that could not be, press me to his breast and die with 
me in that blissful embrace!” She stopped at the 
window and pressed her throbbing temples against the 
cool, damp panes. 

Die! That word fell like soothing balsam upon her. 
It was not the first time that word had occurred to her 
and passed her lips. As she tossed sleeplessly upon 
her bed, when her fancy pictured to her with madden- 
ing clearness the happiness, the bliss she could have 
experienced in JonePs love, as with a shudder she 
gazed upon the sickly old man to whom she was 
bound, the thought of self-destruction often presented 
itself; but her whole being revolted against it. Die 
in the bloom of her youth, destroy life, while hidden 
deep in her heart was the hope that, who knew, per- 
haps that day, the next, any day, any hour something 
unexpected, some miracle might happen which would 


340 


JONEL FORTUN^T 


change the entire current of her life? Oh, no, no! 
But as she meditated seriously upon it and convinced 
herself that Jonel did not love her, the thought took 
a fresh hold upon her. Of what value was life to her? 
Where was that happiness she had dreamed of?^ What 
enjoyment did her wealth, her manificence yield her by 
the side of that old man? 

“Make yourself quite easy, madame, “ the doctor 
had told her only the day before, “your husband may 
live five, ten, perhaps fifteen years longer!” 

“Five, ten, perhaps fifteen years!” moaned she. 
One year would roll away and another and another, 
and she would see the best years of her life vanish by 
the sick-bed of her husband. What could Italy, Paris, 
offer her? She would gaze at the blue skies, into 
laughing faces and in her own heart bear about a 
secret, nameless sorrow! Was it worth wasting a 
tear upon such a miserable life? She started up, her 
face was deathly pale, a strange light glowed in her 
eyes, which rested upon a chest standing by the side 
of the invalid’s bed. She approached the chest, 
opened it, took out a small bottle filled with a white 
powder; upon the label was a death’s head which 
denoted its contents; she had one day seen it in Frau 
Falutza’s medicine chest and had taken it with the 
laughing words: “Perhaps some day I may want to 
poison myself.” 

She stepped to the table, took a glass half filled 
with water and poured the contents of the bottle into 
it. She was about to raise it to her lips when the 
invalid suddenly moaned in his sleep; she started. 


JOUEL FORT UN AT 


341 


placed the glass upon the table, walked to the window 
and sank into a chair; she had done all that almost 
automatically, as if under the influence of some higher 
power; suddenly the enormity of her attempt became 
clear to her, a terrible fear possessed her; the remem- 
brance of her dream occurred to her, she saw herself 
lying in her coffin; she saw shadowy forms, she heard 
suppressed sobs, was it her father, her husband, or 
Jonel who wept so? And the sobs grew louder and 
louder, a mist gathered before her eyes, suddenly she 
heard her husband call out: “Water, water!” 

She did not stir; he reached out Iiis hand and 
seized the glass standing on the table, she tried to 
rise, but it seemed as if an iron hand held her back; 
she tried to cry out, to call, to warn him, but her 
throat was closed; she' saw him raise the glass to his 
lips, it was only a second, but a second in which 
terrible fear and at the same time a wild joy shot 
swiftly through her; she sprang up, a gurgling sound 
escaped her. 

“Do not drink, do not drink!” cried she, but it was 
too late . . . Then her eyes grew dim, she uttered 

a scream and fell senseless to the floor. 


XXXV. 


In the district capital of D., the seat of Herr Pre- 
fect Remus Aldean, where Herr Pantasi Tschukeehad 
been located for three weeks, the time passed very 
monotonously. The social life did not amount to any- 
thing; there were no theatricals nor musical treats, 
unless one might call the singing of chansonettes at 
the Cafe Francais, the gathering place of the digni- 
taries of D., such. Literary questions never puzzled 
their brains; the gentlemen who belonged to the creme 
of society, the lawyers and higher officials of the court, 
felt no thirst for literary knowledge, while the ladies 
were contented with the “Bomba,” a tri-weekly jour 
nal of politics, commerce, art, literature and science, 
as the advertisement ran. Therefore in D. one might 
have led a very retired life, if those miserable politics 
at the time of the meeting of Parliament and elections 
had not roused the people occasionally from their 
slumbers; then there was excitement, then were meet- 
ings held at which the opposing parties not only felt 
the force of their arguments, but of their fists as well ; 
orators of wonderful talent sprang up and at the Cafe 
Francais; the great and insignificant leaders of the 
‘ campaign hurled Homeric execrations, and at times 
substantial things, such as, for example, glasses and 

342 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


343 


chairs, at their heads. When the elections were over, 
politi^^al passion vanished. The old, monotonous life was 
resumed, and Prefect Aldean, who during the campaign 
strained every nerve in order to obtain his candidates’ 
election, was again to be found at the Cafe Francais 
playing dominoes with the portly justice of appeals, 
Gorsovei, or with several of his chums gathered around 
him, telling anecdotes or retailing some of the petty 
gossip of the town. 

The appointment of Herr Tschukee to the state’s- 
attorneyship was a strange coincidence, a circumstance 
which furnished material for general conversation for 
an entire week. Many attributed it to the prefect, 
who had not especially favored the former attorney, 
an agreeable young man who had been removed to 
another town, without any plausible excuse — it was 
supposed because he was liked by the ladies, and more 
particularly by Madame Aldean. The ladies’ astonish- 
ment at the sudden removal of their favorite tu«ied to 
indignation when the small, deformed figure of his sue* 
cessor appeared at D. In a town where gallant and 
handsome men were so scarce, to send away the most 
gallant and the handsomest and to put in his place a 
perfect fright! Was not such an act unparalleled? 

If Herr Olescu, the editor of the tri-weekly "Bomba,” 
were not sold body and soul to the prefect, he would 
have written an article upon that occurrence. So said 
the ladies; so said the petite, charming wife of the 
prefect, who soon quickly quieted her by kissing her 
shell-like ear and whispering to her: "Do not excite 
yourself, little simpleton; next week we will go to 


344 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


Bucharest, so that you can order your spring dresses!” 
And Madame Aldean was appeased. 

Herr Pantasi Tschukee had not the faintest suspic- 
ion of the hostile feelings cherished in the breasts of 
the ladies against him; since hearing of Valsamaki’s 
death, he had been gay ^nd happy. 

The knowledge that he was only two hours distant 
from Valeni, that he could visit the young widow 
every week, every day, had completely changed him. 
He felt as if he had been born again; the capital 
seemed to him like paradise ; it is true, he exercised 
his power of wit upon the rough stones of the trottoir, 
on the holes in the road, on the red nose of the burgo- 
master, on the painted faces of the ladies, on the 
curls of the Jews, on the corpulence of Herr Gorsovei, 
on the lyrical productions which Herr Olescu pub- 
lished every Sunday in the ”Bomba; ” but his sarcasm 
was not so bitter, so biting as it had formerly been, 
his whole manner was gentler, he himself wondered at 
it; it struck the prefect, too, that the humpback was 
livelier than he had been heretofore, and that he 
seemed to feel contented in his narrow field of labor. 

“Your present position, ’ said he to him one day at 
the Cafe Francais, “which gives your ambition very 
little play, seems indeed to have affected you like 
wine. I cannot possibly understand what can have in- 
duced you to give up your lucrative practice at the 
residence!” 

“Why did I covet the honor of judging of the mis- 
demeanors of the rogues in your district?” laughed 
Herr Tscliukee, and his sparkling eyes scanned the 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


345 


circle. For the sake of my health, Herr Prefect, for 
the sake of my health, Herr Gorsovei. At the resi- 
dence gentlemen, there is too much strain upon us, 
it makes us thin. I wished to become fleshy, 'and 
I said to myself that I should have no better opportu- 
nity than amongst you, my dear fellow citizens, in 
the pleasant capital of our Herr Prefect, where one 
can enjoy oneself so thoroughly. Do you think, my 
dear Gorsovei, that it would have been possible for you 
to attain such magisterial proportions at the residence! 
No, indeed! I wish to become fat too, gentlemen!” 

“Oh, the old simpleton! ” laughed the prefect; and 
as Herr Gorsovei laughed too, the inquisitor, Herr 
Fara, and the editor of the “Bomba,” Herr Olescu, con- 
sidered it their duty to join likewise in the laughter. 

“If your theory be true,” said Herr Gorsovei, as he 
propped his thick, round head upon his small, white 
hand, “if your theory be a true one, my dear Tschukee, 
you owe me an explanation of Herr Olescu’s lack of 
flesh. ” 

The editor of the tri-weekly “Bomba” was a spindle 
like man, with a heavy black mustache and a starved 
looking face, by which one could almost divine that 
the expounder of public opinion in D. during the past 
week had lived on cafe-au-lait for which he still owed 
at the “Francais.” 

“You are mistaken, Herr Gorsovei,” replied the 
humpback; “a journalist cannot, must not grow fat. 
That is forbidden by his calling. A journalist must 
consist more of mind than of flesh; a journalist, gen- 
tlemen, is the sublimate of the mind of his reading 


346 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


public; and then think, three times a week, as our 
honored friend does, to enter the breaches, three times 
a week to express public opinion, tells upon one, gen- 
tlemen! I comprehend why you are thin, Herr Olescu,” 
he added with comical gravity, “but console yourself; 
Cassius had no more flesh than you have, and yet no 
one caused the mighty Caesar so many sleepless nights 
as that thin Roman. What important news will your 
morning edition contain, Herr Olescu?” 

“The streets which the council intend to pave this 
summer!” laughed Herr Gorsovei. 

“A sonnet to charming Madame Valsamaki!” cried 
the inquisitor. 

“The morning issue of the ‘Bomba,’” said Herr 
Olescu, smiling mournfully, “will contain sensational 
news.” 

“What did you say!” exclaimed the inquisitor, 
feigning astonishment; “and you can keep it a secret?” 

“I do not wish to spoil the sale of my paper, Herr 
Fara; iff tell all to-day that it will contain to-morrow, 
who will buy the 'Bomba?’” 

“Your logic is indisputable,” said Tschukee ; “but 
now that you have aroused our curiosity, you must 
satisfy it, so out with it; what is your sensational 
news?” 

Herr Olescu emptied his cup of coffee, then drew 
from his breast-pocket a crumpled piece of paper, 
unfolded it, put on his spectacles .and read: 

“A strange piece of news. Fromone of the subscrib- 
ers to our paper in Valeni we have received the fol- 
lowing information to which we call the attention of 


JONEL FORTUNAT 347 

our readers. ‘The sudden death of Herr Valsamaki 
has given rise in our neighborhood to all sorts of re- 
ports, which are gaining more and more credence; it is 
whispered that Herr Valsamaki did not die a natural 
death, and the voxpopuli point to his wife as the mur- 
deress. It is to be hoped that competent parties will 
endeavor to ascertain if there be any foundation to this 
rumor or not. But inquiries would have to be made 
soon, for, so it is said, Madame Valsamaki, who is a 
converted Jewess and the daughter of a peddler living 
at Banesti, is making preparations to leave our neigh- 
borhood.' Is that not sensational news, gentlemen?” 
asked Herr Olescu with a triumphant smile. 

Silence followed, broken by Herr Tschukee. 

“That notice,” cried he, excitedly, with a deathly 
pale face, “is infamous, it is an unqualified libel! I 
know the lady very well, Herr Olescu, I know — and 
you know too, Herr Prefect — that for years Valsamaki 
has had trouble with his lungs and has been pro- 
nounced incurable by the doctors; his death was there- 
fore not sudden, as your subscriber says. Who gave 
you this information?” added he quickly. 

“That is a secret,” replied Herr Olescu, timidly, 
“but I will be accommodating and tell you his name; 
it was the schoolmaster of Valeni.” 

“And on the strength of the old woman's gossip of 
that country rascal, ” cried Herr Tschukee, indignantly, 
“will you dare to bring so terrible a charge publicly 
against a respectable woman? When will your paper 
be printed?” 

“This evening.” 


348 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


“Then I beg of you to repair at once to your office 
and withdraw that questionable notice, if you do not 
wish to risk being sued for libel. I beg of you to do 
so, Herr Olescu. “ 

Ti e editor glanced inquiringl}^ at the prefect, the 
judge, and the inquisitor, in hopes that one of those 
gentlemen would intercede for him, but they all main- 
tained silence, so he arose, promised to grant Herr 
Tschukee’s request, and left the coffee-house whistling 
a popular air. 


XXXVI 


So the notice did not appear in the “Bomba,” but 
the report passed from mouth to mouth with many an 
addition that same evening. It seemed incredible! 
It was not generally credited, yet people liked to 
speak of it, liked to make surmises; they said that sev- 
eral years before in a neighboring town a similar case 
had occurred, and the majority hoped secretly that the 
rumor might be confirmed. 

“A young girl of rare beauty, a Jewess, who marries 
an old sickly man, is something suspicious in itself,” 
some said. 

“Lea is an independent woman, proud and passion- 
ate; such a women is capable of anything,” added 
others. 

“There must be an illicit love behind it all,” said 
Herr Olescu at the Cafe Francais. 

Several days later the inquisitor was informed from 
many sources that the report could not possibly have 
originated without some cause; where there was smoke 
there was almost always fire. 

Herr Fara,who for three years had acted as inquisitor 
without an opportunity having presented itself enabling 
him to display his sagacity, was very much inclined 
to allow his talents to shine forth in connection with 
the “mysterious affair,” as he called it. But as Tschukee 

349 


350 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


denounced the matter as “old woman’s gossip, ” he did 
not consider it advisable to oppose his chef, whom 
he held in high esteem, and did not examine further 
into the matter. But when the same notice which 
Herr Olescu had received from Valeni made its ap- 
pearance in several of the Bucharest papers public 
opinion suddenly turned; and it was a striking proof 
of what power printed matter possesses, that Valsa- 
maki had died an unnatural death, and that Lea was 
his murderess, seemed all at once an indisputable 
fact, which had up to that time been doubted ; and it 
was incomprehensible to many that Tschukee still 
did not inquire into the affair. The prefect’s wife 
was the most indignant at the attorney’s delay. 
Madame Aldean had her especial reasons for disliking 
Lea; several weeks before she had called upon Lea 
at the special request of her husband, who wished to 
keep in the good graces of Herr Valsamaki, whose 
voice in the election was very weighty, and that call 
had not been returned. Madame Aldean had finally 
decided that one could not expect politeness from “the 
overbearing daughter of a Jewish peddler;” there 
were, however, several other very important reasons; 
Herr Aldean had repeatedly dared to praise Lea’s 
beauty in her presence; and furthermore, when Lea 
spent some hours in D., in order to make a few pur- 
chases, upon that day she formed the sole topic *^'1 
conversation, they praised her Juno-like form, her 
glowing eyes, raved over her striking yet tasteful cos- 
tumes, and the corpulent Justice of Appeals, Gorsovei, 
uttered with especial emphasis the almost incredible 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


851 


statement that Madame Valsamaki did not owe the 
delicacy and wonderful coloring of her complexion- to 
artificial means, and Herr Fara, who v/as well-versed in 
such things, confirmed it with a solemn oath. From 
that time there occasionally appeared in the “Bomba” 
poems addressed to the “Lily of Valeni,”- by an anony- 
mous admirer, who was suspected of being the prefect. 

Madame Aldean had never been praised in verse, and 
yet she was the lad)^ who held the highest position in 
the district and was endowed by nature with many gifts, 
which, if the poet had had any kind of an eye for 
form, must have inspired him. So in the little lady’s 
heart took root a secret . dislike of Lea, which found 
expression in angry words when one morning she read, 
in black and white in one of the Bucharest papers, of 
that which for a week past had agitated the commu- 
nity of D. 

“To be plain with you, I do not understand you,” 
said she to her husband; “an atrocious murder is com- 
mitted in your district, and you, the representative of 
justice, stand with folded hands as if the matter did 
not concern you. What does it mean? What does it 
mean, I say? Do not put it on Tschukee, I beg of you, 
for God’s sake; that humpback seems to me to be a 
very suspicious person; as I have heard last week he 
was at Valeni three times with your Jewish Venus; 
he is paying court to her and helping her to settle 
her business — in a word it is a veritable scandal! 
And you, the prefect of this district, allow that knave 
of an attorney to compromise you! You may make 
up your mind to read in a rival paper to-morrow tleet 


352 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


you have received from the peddler’s daughter an 
enormous sum of money to hush up the matter. You 
wish to make me miserable! Who knows, perhaps you 
are in love with the 'Lily of Valeni;’ that would not 
be bad; she is a young wealthy widow; you need only 
obtain a divorce from me and she is yours. ” 

With those words Madame Aldean burst into a tor- 
rent of tears, which was not stemmed until the prefect 
had solemnly promised her to give his special atten- 
tion to the matter. Soon after the so-anxiously-looked- 
for article appeared in the “Bomba; “ Herr Olescu had 
surpassed himself; he drew a touching picture of the 
virtues of the deceased lord of Valeni; he depicted 
in touching words the grief of the peasants of that 
neighborhood, who mourned a never-to-be-forgotten 
benefactor; he said that the widow would have to 
institute an inquiry into the matter for the sake of her 
own reputation; he addressed an appeal to the officers 
who treated the matter with such indifference, request- 
ing them to arouse from their lethargy, and closed his 
four-column article with the words: “Fiat justitia, 
pereat mundus!” 

Herr Olescu was delighted; his article created a 
sensation; all spoke of it, all were indignant at Herr 
Tschukee, and some even said that they would tele- 
graph to the minister of justice if the attorney did 
not soon attend to his duties. That threat, however, 
was not executed. A few days after the appearance 
of Herr Olescu’s article, the intelligence was circulat- 
ed through the town that a number of commissioners 
had arrived at Valeni and that Valsamaki’s body was 
to be exhumed. 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


353 


The excitement at D. increased day by day ; the ex- 
amination of the body showed that Valsamaki had been 
poisoned, and one morning the "Bomba” announced 
that Lea was suspected of having a hand in it and 
that she had been placed in the gaol at D. In what 
the proof consisted, Herr Olescu did not say, neither 
was the inquisitor, Herr Fara, much less the attorney, 
inclined to gratify the general curiosity. 

Herr Tschukee was no longer witty; he was morose, 
silent, worked incessantly, and the sentinel posted 
before his house saw the lamp in his apartments burn- 
ing every night when everyone else had retired. 

"Our dear attorney,” scoffed Herr Olescu, "does not 
seem to gain much flesh!” 

Indeed Herr Tschukee was growing thinner, his eyes 
were hollow and had an unsteady, flickering brilliance 
in them. Not by asyllible did Herr Tschukee betray 
his inward agitation; toward the officials in whose 
charge Lea wa ; he preserved a stony composure. He 
continued his investigation with apparently business- 
like gravity, and only when he was alone in his room, 
the facts of the case before him, meditating and 
brooding over them, only then did deep grief show it- 
self in his features; then his brain strove to make the 
matter clear, the matter which had shaken his soul to 
its foundation. Was Lea really guilty? could he be- 
lieve her explanation that the fatal glass of water was 
intended for herself, and that only accidentally did it 
reach her husband’s hand? that it was too late when 
she sprang up to take it from him? that she had 
sought death? What motive had awakened in her the 


• 354 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


thoughts of suicide? Her hopeless love for Jonel? 
The reflection that she was bound to an old man? 
Perhaps! Could not those thoughts have tempted her 
to poison her husband? Then she would be free, rich; 
then there would be nothing to prevent her marriage 
with Jonel. She may have struggled with herself, have 
driven away thoughts of murder, but they returned 
again and again, stronger, more forcibly, until they 
seized hold upon her and prophesied for her a bright, 
joyous, rosy future. Thus might she have become a 
murderess. But if she were one, why was she so 
calm, so composed? Whence came the convincing tone 
of truth which sounded in her words? Was all that 
deception? Was she an accomplished actress, a liar, 
a thoroughly corrupt woman? During the long, ter- 
rible examination he had not heard her weep once, 
and only upon that day when he informed her that in 
a few weeks* she would be called before the jury, that 
the painful duty had devolved upon him of indicting 
her, and when he asked her if he might recommend 
counsel for her defense, a tear trembled upon her 
lashes and her voice quivered as she asked him to 
write to Jonel Fortunat to undertake her defense. 

Why Jonel, why just him? The humpback sprang 
up. “Why just him?” he said to himself. “Because 
she loves him, loves him dearly; because she wishes 
to see the man to whom she clings, who perhaps — who 
probably is the cause of her being a poisoner; because 
she wishes to hear his voice, to be near him!” He 
walked to the window and looked down into the street. 
A newsboy ran by, calling out: “‘Bomba,’ murder of 
Valsamaki!” 


JOl^EL FORTUM AT 


355 


"And if she loves him," thought he, "what does it 
concern you? You are the indicter, the state' s-attor- 
ney, you are merely the speaking-trumpet of justice; 
you must have no heart, no feelings!" He laughed 
softly. "No feelings? And suppose I have them 
anyway, suppose I love you. Lea, whether you are 
guilty or not, if you meant the poison for yourself or 
for your husband — what then? Then it is very sad, 
my dear Tschukee, or very comical, my dear state' s- 
attorney, just as one takes it. And if I look at it 
from the comical side, eh? If I say to you, Madame 
Lea, do you wish to be freed? Very well, then, show 
me a little, a very little, of your favor, I have the 
most honorable intentions, I will marr}^ you, you will 
become my wife! You are ambitious; very well, I 
will become a minister; only one year at the most 
and you will be a minister’s wife. Who is that Jonel? 
An unsophisticated young fellow." 

He turned from the window, his frame trembling 
with emotion. In the streets the lamps were being 
lighted, the heavens were overcast. Herr Tschukee 
left his apartments and directed his steps toward the 
prison. Upon the way thither several acquaintances 
met him; they greeted him, but he did not reply; he 
did not see them. 


XXXVII 


When Tschukee entered the small, but cleanly cell 
in which Lea had been lodged for two weeks, he found 
her staring moodily before her, seated at a table upon 
which burned two candles in brass candle*sticks. On 
the table lay several books and a bunch of white roses 
which Tschukee had that morning selected at the flo- 
rist’s and sent to Lea. 

As he entered, she started up and looked at him 
some time absentl}^; her pale face which had lost its 
former roundness and her eyes encircled by dark rings 
betrayed how much she had suffered during the past 
weeks; they had been terrible weeks, full of a name- 
less fear, feverish anxiety and unspeakable torture. 

“So late!” cried she, holding out her hand to Tschu- 
kee. Her voice had an odd, weary sound. Tschukee 
retained her cold, soft fingers in his. 

“Pardon my late visit,” began he, “I come to bring 
you news which I imagine will please you. Will you 
not be seated?” 

She sank into a chair; he remained standing be- 
fore her. 

“You wished me to write to Jonel asking him to 
undertake your defense; so as not to lose too much 
time I telegraphed to him; an hour ago I received his 
reply. He will arrive here to-morrow forenoon.” He 

356 


fONEL FORTUNAT 


357 


paused and looked searchingly at her. A slight blush 
passed over her cheeks. 

“That is indeed good news,” said she, ”I thank 
you! “ 

He paced the room several times, then halted and 
asked: 

“Have you read the indictment which I sent you 
to day?” 

“No!” replied she. 

“You must read it, madame.” 

“Wherefore?”. 

“So that you can see how many and what important 
evidences point to your guilt” 

My guilt! ” exclaimed she, bitterly. "Do you too 
believe in my guilt? Has everyone combined to 
brand me as a poisoner, to make me miserable and 
unhappy? Have you no heart, Herr Tschukee?” 

She uttered the last words in despair. It was the 
first time that she lost her self-control, that she al- 
lowed her feelings to become apparent. Tschukee 
stood to all appearances unmoved before her, only 
the corners of his mouth quivered somewhat. 

“I have explained to you the reasons,” began he, 
"why I did not refuse the sad and exceedingly painful 
office of indicting you. If you will read the act of in- 
dictment you will find what strong grounds for suspi- 
cion there are; all depends upon the indicter if and 
how much those grounds influence the minds of the 
jurymen. He can arrange them, condense them so that 
the jury, in spite of all the eloquence of the counsel 
for the defense, will be compelled to render a verdict 


858 JON EL FORT UN AT 

of ^Guilty. ^ Your fate depends upon the attorney, 
madame; do you know what that means?” added he. 
“Upon one side, life with all its pleasures; freedom, 
youth, beauty, wealth, grandeur and love, and upon 
the other side, a life which is a thousand times worse 
than death.” 

She did not utter a sound, but he noticed that she 
shuddered. He sank into a chair by her side, and 
looked into her pale face, upon which lay an expres- 
sion of horror; her hand rested on the table, he 
spanned the delicate wrist, pressed it lightly, and at 
that action a strange sensation, half blissful joy, half 
heart-rending sadness, possessed him. 

“So this is the woman you love,” he said to himself, 
“the beautiful, queenly woman who can make you in- 
consolably wretched or unspeakably happy; you are 
holding her hand in yours, and she knows that you 
are master of her fate, of her future! Does she know 
it indeed?” He released her hand. 

“Your fate depends on me,” said he, and his voice 
was very curious; “I ask you once again, do you know 
what that means, madame?” 

“I know,” said she, inaudibly. 

“And if I were to tell ypu,” cried he, his face grow- 
ing pallid, while his eyes flashed darkly, “that I would 
give you freedom, youth, grandeur and wealth 
again — ” 

He did not finish the sentence. Lea sprang up, her 
face was crimson. 

“Why are you frightened, madame?” asked he; 
“pray,, remain seated.” 


JONEL FOkTUl^AT 


859 


"What do your strange words mean?" murmured 
she in confusion, retreating a step. 

"My words seem strange to you," laughed he, softly 
and bitterly; "I will speak more plainly. Just fancy, 
madame, this humpback, seated so abjectly before 
you, has had a wonderful dream, I will relate it to 
you, perhaps you may understand it." He took a rose 
from the bunch, smelt it, mused a while, and said as 
if talking to himself: "My mother loved flowers pas- 
sionately, especially roses, white roses; she was a 
beautiful woman, a strikingly beautiful woman, and 
she died so young. My father — he was a gambler and 
drunkard and up to his ears in debt — drove her to her 
death, and do you know how? He would rouse me 
from my sleep when he came home from his drunken 
orgies, cast me at her feet and laugh: 'There is your 
humpbacked angel, only look at him!’ He struck me 
in order to straighten my limbs; but, as you see, 
without success; during that treatment of me, my 
mother would crouch in a corner of the room. timidly, 
and weep softly; but when I was alone with her — when 
our tormentor left us, then would she draw me to her 
breast and caress, kiss me and wipe away my tears, and 
when she died — I was still very young but I can see 
her before me as if it were only yesterday — she held 
in her cold, nerveless right hand a white rose, like 
this one, the last that I had picked for her. Why do 
I tell you all this?" added he, smiling sadly. "Be- 
cause I wished to tell you that I have spent a sad, 
loveless life; and if I desire consolation in my misery, 
or wish to find a shimmer of love, I have to lookback, 


360 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


far back to the earliest days of my childhood, and 
think of my poor, dead mother.” His voice grew 
tender, a peculiar melancholy trembled in it, his eyes 
were dimmed with tears. He rose and taking a step 
toward Lea said: "Yet that dream of my mother 
has been overshadowed by another dream, madame I 
I dreamt that I loved you, madame, with the fervor 
of which only a stranger to love is capable; I dreamt 
that you too, madame, felt for me — what shall I say, 
not love, oh no, but pity, compassion; I dreamt — oh, 
what does not one dream! — that I kissed you, kissed 
you wildly, clasped you to my breast and whispered 
to you: ‘What care I whether you be guilty or inno- 
cent? Be mine, by my wife, I will carry 3^ou in my 
arms, I will be your slave!’ And you, madame, 3^ou 
laughed, as I have heard you laugh, so silvery, so 
mercilessly. I awoke. Why do you not laugh, ma- 
dame? Laugh, for Jonel is coming, a handsome youth, 
an eloquent orator, a poet — ” 

He laughed aloud. Lea sank into a chair, covered 
her face with her hands and wept convulsively. 

".Good night, madame!” said Tschukee, and hastily 
left the room. 


XXXVIII 


The justice of appeals, Gorsovei, cared for his cor- 
pulent self with great tenderness; he was healthy, 
fresh and rosy and blessed with a fine appetite; yet at 
the same time he was haunted by the dread fear that 
a stroke of apoplexy might put a sudden end to his ex 
istence. He therefore avoided anything that might 
tend to bring about such a terrible calamity; he shirked 
all bodily and mental strain, more especially the lat- 
ter. If court business exceeded the usual hours, he 
would rest his elbows upon the table, and cover his 
eyes with his small, fat hands, which was meant to 
signify that he was pondering silently upon the case 
in hand. But his legal brethren understood that 
strategem, they knew that Herr Gorsovei was taking a 
nap; and they Willingly allowed him to take it, for his 
was a yielding, easy nature which never raised objec- 
tions during debates and which always gladly sided 
with the majority. It was a heavy blow to Herr 
Gorsovei when fate ordained that he be chosen as 
"president” in the case, the result of which everyone 
was awaiting with feverish anxiety. 

"It is well-meant,” said he, with a sigh, to Herr 
Olescu, as the latter congratulated him upon his ap- 
pointment; it is well-meant, but they do not know what 
unpleasantness is associated with it; I am very much 

361 


362 


JONEL FORTUhJAT 


mistaken if that case will not last an entire day, per- 
haps two, and you know, Herr Olescu, what it is to 
pass a number of hours in a close atmosphere, to lead 
debates, to examine witnesses, to spar with the coun- 
sel for the defense, to tax one’s brain, and all upon an 
empty stomach and in a tropical heat? That case might 
give a constitution, such as mine is, its death-blow; 
I have already had a foretaste of the disagreeable 
things which await me. I have been besieged for 
cards of admission. The hall scarcel}^ holds one hun- 
dred persons; I have given out cards to one hundred 
and thirty, and just now I received another solicita- 
tion from Herr Dobrescu — he wants three seats, for 
himself, for his wife and for his daughter. I assure 
3^ou, Herr Olescu, I am not to be envied!” 

Indeed Herr Gorsovei did not give one the impres- 
sion of being an enviable person, when on the day of 
the trial, he left his lodgings at ten o’clock in the 
forenoon, after having partaken of an enormous break- 
fast, preparatory to repairing to court. It was a love- 
ly April day, the sky was blue and bright, the streets 
were as livel}^ as upon a market-day, the sunbeams 
warm and gleaming. But Gorsovei did not heed the 
glories of spring. He walked along thoughtfully 
with eyes cast down like a condemned criminal, and a 
deep sigh escaped him when he arrived at the hall 
of justice, found the entrance to the same besieged 
by a dense mass of people, through which crowd he 
would have to force his way. As the majority were 
peasants from Valeni to whom he was a stranger, he 
was obliged to call upon a sentinel to make way for 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


363 


him, notwithstanding which, while the guard was dis- 
persing the crowd, he received several digs in his 
ribs, which did not serve to increase his good-humor. 

The trial was to begin at eleven o’clock, but the 
room was fiJled long before that hour. For the people 
of rank two extra rows of chairs were placed. In the 
front row sat Herr Dobrescu, his wife and Pia. Pia 
looked pale, as if she had been up all night. Since 
reading the first intelligence of the affair at Valeni, 
she had lived in one continual excitement. She had 
induced her mother to leave the residence a month 
earlier than usual, and to repair to her estate about 
three miles distant from the capital of D. in order to 
be present at the trial. It was not curiosity, not the 
excitement which sensational cases usually awaken, 
which drove her to do this; it was not the desire to 
see Lea who h^cd so greatly wronged her appear upon 
the stand under the weight of a horrible accusation, 
but it was the peculiar, vague, heart-oppressing feel- 
ing that JoneT was playing a part in that mysterious 
affair. That thought had arisen within her for the 
first time, when she heard that Valsamaki had been 
poisoned by his wife. At first she did not dare to think 
of it, but it occurred to her again and again; it took 
root in her breast and became almost a dread cer- 
tainty when she learned that Jonel had undertaken 
Lea’s defense. That case seemed to her like a per- 
sonal matter; she wished to see Lea and Jonel face 
to face before the jury; she wished to hear with her 
own ears upon what evidence the accusation was 
based and how Jonel would invalidate the same. 


364 


JONbL FORTUNAT 


The trial lay like^ a heavy weight upon her soul, and 
it seemed to her as if her own fate depended upon 
its issue. 

In such a condition had she lived through the 
weary weeks, and longed impatiently for the day when 
it should be proven if Lea really was her husband’s 
murderess, and if so, what her motive had been. 
That painful agitation had banished sleep from her 
eyes, and her tortured mind had called up horrible 
visions, under the tormenting influence of which she 
entered the hall of justice. There was nothing re 
markable about that; it was a bare, white-washed, 
rectangular room, whose use was pointed out by the 
two amphitheater-like rows of chairs for the jury, 
b}^ the platform upon which stood tables covered with 
green cloth and some upholstered arm-chairs, by a 
well-worn bible and a crucifix upon one of the tables. 
And the spring sun shone into the high windows 
and gilded the heads of the ladies who were present, 
dressed as if for the theater, and who conversed 
loudly and smilingly about the question in hand. 
Pia gazed anxiously at the lame apparitor with the 
knavish face, who busily stumped about, blew the 
dust from the bible and crucifix, arranged the papers 
and joked with the reporters who sat around the 
table in front of the first row of seats, sharpening pen 
cils or taking notes. She drew out her watch several 
times, looked at the dial, and it seemed to her as if 
the minutes were an eternity. Then a door creaked, 
the jurymen entered; next to those, in faultless black 
coats and with intelligent faces, appeared coarse 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


865 


smocks and stupid faces. The hall buzzed with 
laughing, whispering voices, which however, ceased, 
when President Gorsovei, followed by two judges, sol- 
emnly and impressively entered and seated himself 
upon the fauteuil covered with red leather, be- 
fore the green table upon which stood the crucifix. 
Immediately after them came the state’s -attorney, 
Herr Tschukee. Almost simultaneously Jonel en- 
tered the hall by a side door; with head proudly 
erect he advanced to the table in front of the seats 
of the jurymen, sank into a chair and glanced hastily 
at the audience. A slight flush passed over his face 
when he perceived Pia; he bowed his head in greet- 
ing, she returned his salutation and lowered her lids, 
for she felt that a burning blush suffused her cheeks; 
her mother whispered some remark to her, she did 
not reply. It was a long and tedious proceeding. 

The oath was administered; the president then de- 
livered a short speech which reminded the jury and 
the advocates of their duties. 

“Bring in the accused! “ cried the president. 

This exclamation was followed by that peculiar 
movement amongst the audience which generally pre- 
cedes an anxiously awaited moment. Many seemed to 
be attacked by fits of coughing, chairs were pushed to 
and fro, part of the crowd seated in the last row arose. 
Cries of “Sit down!” grew loud, the lame apparitor 
increased the confusion by calling out: “Silence, 
sirs, silence!” while the president with nervous haste 
tapped the bell. Suddenly silence reigned; Lea 
entered; her tall, majestic form, clad in a black silk 


366 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


dress, her only ornament two pearls in her rosy ears, 
her statuesque face with its black, glowing eyes, which 
seemed to gaze into space, exercised a fascination 
over the audience, and only after she had seated her- 
self and had replied in a soft, well-modulated voice to 
the first question addressed to her by the president, 
'did the stillness give place to a gentle murmuring. 

Pia did not hear what was asked, nor did she seem 
to comprehend Lea’s reply. With her white, gleaming 
teeth pressing upon her under-lip and forcibly subdu- 
ing her inward agitation, she gazed fixedly upon Lea’s 
face as if she wished to discover from her features 
what was passing within her. But that face was cold, 
impassive, not a muscle quivered ; she seemed not to 
have observed Jonel at all; but just at that moment 
— for a moment only — their eyes met. Pia had 
caught that glance and she felt as if a dagger had 
been plunged into her heart. Had not Lea’s eyes 
sparkled knowingly? Had not Jonel’s face turned 
scarlet? Had not his hand trembled? Had he not, 
in order to hide his emotion, bent his head over the 
papers and seizing a pencil nervously began to scrib- 
ble upon them? What did all that mean? Was her 
suspicion confirmed? Was there really a secret un- 
derstanding between those two people? Was that 
woman really a criminal and that man whom she, Pia, 
loved so devotedly an accomplice — perhaps, indeed, 
the originator of the deed? Her temples throbbed, 
her eyes grew dim, she felt as if she must cry out 
under the burden of that pain. And not a soul in 
that hall suspected what was raging within her, not 


JOr^EL FORTUNAT 


167 


a soul! Were they all stricken with blindness, the 
jur}^ the judge, the attorney? Her eyes rested upon 
Tschukee who, his head pressed between his hands, 
appeared to be deep in the perusal of some papers. 
Suddenly a remembrance shot through her brain; 
Tschukee had told her one day that JonePs mind lay 
before him like an open book and that he had read 
every page in it. Had he read that last, dark, perhaps 
bloody page? Did he suspect, did he know the 
motive that had driven Lea to commit that murder? 
And if he did suspect it, if he did know it, would he 
tell it before everyone, in that place? 

So her thoughts ran, while one hour after another 
passed away, while one witness after another was 
called up, sworn and examined. The testimony of 
the witnesses did not tend for one moment to weaken 
Lea’s explanation that by a fatal accident the glass 
with the poison which she had intended for herself 
had fallen into her husband’s hand. - The hostile atti- 
tude which at first the audience assumed toward the 
accused, had in the course of the day changed in favor 
of Lea. It was not her beauty alone that had brought 
about the revulsion of feeling, but rather her won- 
derful self-possession and composure which had noth- 
ing in common with the hesitancy of the criminal. She 
did not weep, she did not lament, and yet her white 
face, her tearful eyes, betra37ed an inexpressible sor- 
row, and that same sorrow trembled in the tones of 
her voice, of that sweet, soft, melodious voice. But 
when, at the president’s question why she had wished 
to put an end to her life, two tears for the first time 


3G8 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


rolled down her cheeks, while she softly uttered the 
words: “Because I was miserable and unhappy,” 

there was a movement in the crowd, and even the 
prefect's wife could not help putting her handkerchief 
to her all were convinced that those words ' 

sprang from a great and genuine sorrow. Herr Gor- 
sovei, who likewise was under the ban of the general 
conviction, suppressed the question trembling upon 
his lips, wherefore she, surrounded by magnificence 
and wealth, with her beauty in all its youthful fresh- 
ness, had felt unhappy; only Pia and the state’ s attor- 
ney seemed incapable of any emotion. The glances 
with which Pia examined Lea had a hostile expres- 
sion, and the more she dwelt upon that enchanting 
beauty, the more did a peculiar feeling of a mixture 
of hatred and horror glow in her heart. 

Then Tschukee arose; he had followed the case with 
apparent indifference, now leaning back in his chair 
his aims crossed upon his breast, now with his head 
in his hands, at times asking the witnesses short ques- 
tions, and only occasionally casting a hasty side glance 
at Lea. But it had not escaped Jonel, who had 
watched him attentively, that his face was strikingly 
pale, his eyebrows darkly contracted, and that at times 
his lids quivered strangely; and as Tschukee stood 
there, his trembling hands resting upon the table, his 
form erect, and after the words: “Gentlemen of the 
jury!” stared at Jonel a second with large flashing 
eyes, the dread feeling crept over the latter that he 
had before him a powerful, merciless antagonist. 

“Gentlemen of the jury,” began Tschukee, after, in 


JONEL EORTUN^T 


369 


a few introductory sentences, having explained the 
state’s attorney’s duty, the case, in which you are 
called upon to give a verdict, is mysterious and com- 
plicated. Direct proofs of the guilt of the accused 
are lacking-; not a single witness has been able to 
bring forward any circumstances to confirm the sus- 
picion; it has, on the contrary, been proved that the 
accused nursed her husband faithfully, that she had 
the entire charge of his fortune, that he placed the 
greatest confidence in her, that she was charitable to- 
ward the poorv and assisted the peasants of Valeni. 
And yet several days after Valsamaki’s interment the 
report arose that he had been poisoned, and by his 
wife. What caused the report we do not know; it 
passed from mouth to mouth, and the examination of 
the body proved that Valsamaki’s death was indeed 
unnatural. Was he poisoned as the vox populi main- 
tains, or was a fatal accident, such as the accused has 
described to us, the cause of his death? Our feelings 
incline to the latter supposition; it seems to us impos- 
sible that a creature with such rare, gifts of body and 
of mind as the accused, in the bloom of youth, with 
such exceptional beauty, a woman with such features 
and such eyes, endowed by the Almighty with such be- 
witching charms — it seems impossible that she can 
have murdered that man, who, defying all prejudices, 
raised her from obscurity, to whom she owed every- 
thing — luxury, wealth and social standing; it seems to 
us incredible, and yet it is believed, loudly expressed, 
repeated and credited by thousands of tongues.” 

He paused several minutes, . left his place, and took 
a few steps forward 
^4 


370 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


Up to that time, Lea had retained her presence of 
mind, sustained by the comforting and strengthening 
consciousness that Jonel was convinced of her inno- 
cence. During the visit which he had paid her in 
prison a few days before the trial, she had told him 
all unreservedly, and. had told him with secret delight 
how her life had seemed to her void and desolate with- 
out his love, how thoughts of self-destruction had 
arisen within her, and how upon that stormy night a 
horrible accident had occurred. She had then con- 
cluded her long, sad confession, and softly, in a trem- 
bling voice asked Jonel if he thought her guilty; his 
eyes had grown moist, he had seized her hand, kissed 
it, and in a voice from which rang out deep, firm con- 
viction, he had said: “You are innocent. Lea!” Since 
she had heard those words from his lips, calmness and 
peace had entered her soul;^ therefore, she had not 
entered the hall bowed and crushed, with the anxious 
face of a criminal, but rather with head erect. At 
the sight of so many eyes of which she was the cyno- 
sure her heart had certainly throbbed, and she had .elt 
as if she must sink. Then she perceived Pia; her 
weakness fled and suddenly it occurred to her that in 
that close salon in the presence of the jury, the Inst, 
decisive struggle would take place between her and 
Pia; Jonel was not only the witness of her greatness 
of soul — that she felt with secret joy — but too of the 
triumph which was called forth by her beauty. All 
that which was taking place seemed to her as a dark 
dream from which she should soon awake; she had 
therefore breathed more freely when Tschukee arose. 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


371 


Poor Tschukee ! What passion had glowed in his 
lovely soulful eyes when he, in his peculiar way, made 
her a declaration of love! What a fortunate coinci- 
dence that just he should be the indicter. She glanced 
at the clock, hanging behind the president; the hand 
pointed to four. 

“Tschukee will speak a quarter, a half hour, and 
then it will bejonel’s turn." A sweet sensation at that 
thought possessed her; she had followed Tschukee’ s 
words without fear, without agitation, with curious at- 
tention, staring before her. But when he broke off 
his discourse left his seat and took several steps for- 
ward, then under an impulse of inward disquiet she 
looked up into Tschukee’ s face. 

*T will prove to you,' gentlemen of the jury,” cried 
he, in a louder voice, “that the incredible is credible, 
the impossible is possible, that the accused is 
indeed a poisoner!” 

Lea started at those words. Had she heard aright? 
No, she was not mistaken. “That the accused is 
indeed a poisoner!” repeated Tschukee with emphasis. 
She shuddered, and that shudder was caused less by 
his words than by the calm, cold, cutting tones in 
which they were uttered; she stared at him breath- 
lessly, with strained eyes. 

“The accused maintains,” continued he, rubbing his 
hands, “that she wished to take her life; we will ex- 
amine that statement. The desire to destroy one’s 
own life, might arise from two causes; a great mis- 
fortune overtakes one, robs one of all judgment, and 
the thought of suicide seems to one the only means of 


373 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


rescuing oneself from one’s trouble. In such a posi- 
tion the accused was not; she had not experienced any 
great misfortune, her relations were pleasant and hap- 
py and her trial of having a sick husband was counter- 
balanced by a thousand other pleasures which life 
offered her; yet there are people apparently happy, in 
whom, however, suicidal thoughts have risen. In the 
hearts of such people is a worm that feeds upon their 
very life; the thought of suicide becomes bitter ear- 
nest, it takes a firmer hold, weaves itself about the soul, 
clouds the mind until the lurking demon which urges 
them to self-destruction, seizes on them with such 
force that they cannot escape. Does the accused be- 
long under the head of those? No, for if such a sui- 
cide reaches for the dagger, the revolver, th^ cup of 
poison, he does not pause half way.” 

Tschukee again paused, then he continued: “The 
accused only stopped half-way, she only poured the 
deadly poison into that glass of water, so that the sick 
man might quench his thirst, therefore she placed it 
near him. These reflections, gentlemen of the jury, 
point to the possibility that not an injured woman but 
rather a .criminal sits before us. But does not that 
possibility lead to certainty. Had the accused a crim- 
inal motive which drove her to that murder? I can, 
I will answer that question in the affirmative.” 

He again made a pause, he still looked at the jury, 
but he felt Lea’s eyes upon him, he suspected what 
was passijig within her. And the consciousness that 
that woman who up to that time had had no feeling for 
him, that that woman whom he loved with ungoverna- 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


873 


ble passion, Imng on his words, everyone of which fell 
upon her like the stroke of a whip, the consciousness 
that he, the little, insignificant humpback, upon whom 
she had always glanced contemptuously, that now" he 
stood before her as a person of great importance, all 
awakened within his breast a demoniacal pleasure and 
something of that gruesome delight with which a wild 
beast tears his opponent limb from limb after a vic- 
torious combat. His eyes sparkled, his pale cheeks 
flushed, as he unsparingly pictured her life, picked out 
the principal facts, grouped and combined them, until 
she stood forth as a hard, cold woman, who took no 
step without calculating the gain to be derived there- 
from; cold calculation was her conversion to Chris- 
tianity, cold calculation her marriage with a sick old 
man, cold calculation the murder of her husband. 

"The selfish man," continued Tschukee, "is a crim- 
inal in a higher moral sense, because he only lives for 
enjoyment and happiness; he becomes a criminal in the 
legal sense of the word when he destroys another ex- 
istence which stands in his way. Valsamaki stood in 
this woman’s way; she was wealthy, she was young, 
but she was bound to an old man who could not offer 
her that happiness for which her passionate nature 
thirsted. Now imagine, gentlemen of the jury, that 
this woman was suddenly possessed by an ardent pas' 
sion for some man, and you will find at once the incen- 
tive to crime. Did that incentive really exist? " asked 
he, and that time his burning eyes rested upon Jonel, 
"did it exist? was there in the heart of the accused a 
sinful love for another man? Was it so or not?” He 
turned abruptly to the accused. 


374 


JOr^EL FORT UN AT 


Tschukee seemed to be carried away by his theme, 
yet at the same time there was something unnatural, 
something theatrical in his manner; it was very evi- 
dent that he had prepared his effects, had calculated 
and weighed their influences; one could feel that he 
was using his resonant voice with some special purpose; 
for once it sounded melodiously soft and insinuating, 
and then again harsh and metallic. Indeed his last 
question had sounded harsh and metallic. 

Silence reigned in the hall; all eyes were fixed 
upon Lea, who sat there motionlessly, her eyes fast- 
ened upon Tschukee; she made a feeble attempt to 
smile, but the smile died upon her bloodless lips, and 
suddenly she sank back and buried her face in her 
hands; no one heard her weep, but tears could be 
seen trickling between her fingers. She heard no 
longer what Tschukee said; the consciousness of her 
misery had overpowered her, she felt as helpless as 
a child in the presence of some unavoidable danger. 
All at once she heard JonePs voice. It was powerful, 
and agitation trembled in his words; she raised her 
eyes; he had never appeared to her so handsome, so 
grand as at the moment when he stood there with 
sparkling eyes and' glowing cheeks, when the words 
flowed from his lips. He, too, pictured her life, but 
in a different light; he spoke of the poor Jewess 
whom he had known in his childhood, of her misery, 
of her poverty, of the oppression her race suffered; 
he referred eloquently to her longing for a brighter, 
happier life. When having blindly given her hand 
to the man who offered her the means of escaping 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


375 


from that misery, which was a burd jn to her proud, 
passionate soul, he said that she, after the first few 
happy days had flown, found herself by the side of a 
feeble old man, and with horror discovered that the 
happiness for which she had sought was no happiness 
at all. 

“Was not the torture of that consciousness enough 
of itself,” cried he, “to awaken in the heart of a 
proud woman thirsty for happiness, thoughts of self- 
destruction, especially if the accused loved a man who 
did not return her love? [s not now the motive for 
suicide quite plain? That motive existed, and only 
therefore because I am convinced of it, only therefore 
have I undertaken the defense of this unfortunate 
woman. You are called upon, gentlemen of the jury,” 
continued he in a louder key, “to decide if this 
woman be guilty of the most horrible crime of which 
we can conceive; that you may be able to justly 
decide, the indictment must present clear proofs; has 
the state’ s-attorney given such? He has plunged 
into the dark depths of the soul of the accused and 
what he brought to light were surmises; he sought 
to explain the crime by the supposition that an illicit 
love in the heart of the accused led to the poisoning 
of her husband ;' but I require proofs, sir state’ s- 
attorney; whom did the accused love? Was that love 
requited? Wpuld she have attained her object by 
poisoning her husband? I will have no conjectures, 
no suspicions, no insinuations. Give the names, sir 
attorney,” added he, sternly. 

He took several steps forward. All the indignation 


376 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


that had gathered in his breast during Tschukee’s 
speech was expi'essed in his words. He knew that he 
was playing a high and dangerous game; he was 
prepared to have Tschukee tell him to his face: “You 
yourself are the man whom she loved!” But as he 
looked at him he had formed a ready reply. 

“Yes, that woman loved me,” he would have said, 
“but you knew that I spurned that love. You knew 
that her despair caused by that rejection awakened 
in her the thoughts of suicide, and yet against your 
better self you founded your accusation upon that; you 
did so because you loved that woman hopelessly, and 
and so from your knavish accusation one could discern 
jealousy, hate and the heartless desire to ruin the 
woman who spurned you, you miserable man. Give 
the names! ” repeated Jonel, and his voice sounded 
threatening, authoritative. 

Tschukee had arisen, but he did not speak a word; 
he looked neither at Jonel, at Lea, nor at the jury- 
men, but gazed into space. 

“I know no names,” said he inaudibly, and sank 
again into his chair. 

The audience had followed JoneTs speech with silent 
admiration, and all were anxiously excited when he 
addressed that direct question to Tschukee. Every- 
one had a vague feeling that the fate of the accused 
depended on the attorney’s reply, and therefore, at his 
word'^, spontaneous applause rang through the room, 
which applause the president attempted ineffectually 
to suppress. 

Pia’s eyes beamed. JoneTs speech had excited her; 














JONEL FORTUNAT 


377 


with bated breath as if her doom were being pro- 
nounced, she had listened to his explanation of Lea’s 
temptation to commit suicide, and she felt the blissful 
certainty for which she had sought so long in vain 
during many a sleepless night; she knew that his heart 
was hers, hers alone! but from the intoxicating bliss 
which filled her soul, arose a feeling of compassion, 
a reflection ok which lay in her tearful eyes, which 
rested upon the poor woman, sitting before her, com- 
pletely crushed. 

"She will surely be freed!" she heard her mother ex- 
claim when the jury retired to the council-room; Jonel 
was congratulated on all sides; suddenly he stood be- 
fore her and his voice’ made her tremble as he expressed 
his pleasure at meeting her again; she looked at him 
speechlessly, then the jurymen, who had scarcely spent 
ten minutes in the council-chamber, returned to the 
hall, whereupon Lea too reappeared, for she had been 
led out during the intermission. 

The foreman of the jury cleared his throat. Lea’s 
eyes grew dim, still she sat erect, but when the fore- 
man in reply to the question, "Is the accused guilty — 
of having poisoned her husband?" uttered a loud, 
echoing, "No," she fainted. 


XXXIX 


Tschiikee left the hall in haste. When he reached 
the street, he drew out his watch, it was nine o’clock; 
he deliberated awhile, he had promised Herr Gorsovei 
to dine with him at the Hotel de France; but not 
withstanding that he had scarcely eaten anything that 
entire day he felt no hunger. Still he thought he 
would keep his promise and walked along the main 
street to the hotel; suddenly iie halted and turned 
back; he felt miserable, he did not wish to see any 
acquaintances, he wished to hear no more of that 
wretched trial. He hastened to his lodgings and, ar- 
rived there, he sent his servant for a bottle of wine, 
quickly emptied two glasses in succession, opened the 
window which led into the garden the bare trees in 
which were lighted by the rays of the moon which 
shone in the heavens full and clear, pushed a chair to 
the window, seated himself in it and gazed thought- 
fully out into the silent night. 

“What now?” murmured he, softly; he pondered 
over that question; he wished to explain to himself 
why he had asked it. Suddenly he laughed aloud, it was 
a bitter laugh, the reply to his question. He laughed 
at the stupid humpback who the preceding night had 
gloried in the revengeful thought that he would ap- 
pear to Lea as her accuser. He had tasted of that 

378 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


379 


bliss, he had drained the cup of revenge to its dregs; 
he had delivered his horrible speech, in which every 
word was studied, with all his power of eloquence. 
And what remained in his heart? The disappointing 
conviction that his wisdom had come to naught, that 
he had attained nothing in spite of his psychology! 
He had pictured so satisfactorily to himself, hai im- 
agined the moment when he, after the verdict, would 
appear before her again and tell her of his mad love, 
would draw her to him in order to flee with her far, 
far out into the world. It was simply madness; but 
the day before he had not perceived it; everything 
had seemed so clear, so convincing to him. His fever- 
ish fancy had played tricks with him and made him 
believe that he would impress Lea as a kind of Rich- 
ard HI. It had been a delusion; he had made a fool 
‘of himself, and the pompous Tschukee had been noth- 
ing more than an ugly, ridiculous, malicious hump- 
back — than a common rascal, who could not excite 
even hatred, but rather contempt. That he had felt 
in the hall of justice, at that moment when Jonel, with 
sparkling eyes, had commanded him to name Lea’s 
lover; at that moment it had struck him that the 
pompous Tschukee, the deformed, infatuated man, 
who wished to win Lea, as Richard did his queen, 
was a rogue. 

“A very common rogue!” said he aloud. He rose 
and paced the room several times. “What now?” asked 
he once more. “What now?” continued he, softly. 
“That will come which must come, for it is written 
in the stars, Jonel will not be able to withstand the 


380 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


persistence of that seductive woman, and if God gives 
me health arjd life, I may one fine day be having the 
pleasure of proposing a toast to the health of the 
newly married pai' it would be fine!” He paused be- 
fore the escritoire upon which lay a revolver with an 
ivory butt, he looked musingly at the weapon. “It 
might perhaps be a blessed deliverance from my 
trials,” rang within him. “Herr Olescu w^ould write 
a very flowery obituary in his ‘Bomba,’ my colleagues 
would pay me the last honors, Herr Gorsovei would laud 
my virtues at my grave, and then in the evening after 
dinner would cross his hands on his stomach and say 
with emotion: “He was a famous man, that Tschukee! ” 
For two or three days people would talk of that fa- 
mous Tschukee and then forget all about him. Who 
would weep one genuine tear for me? Perhaps, only 
Jonel!” 

He grasped his hat, as if possessed by a sudden 
idea, extinguished the light and left his room. He 
walked along quickly until he arrived at the Hotel de 
France, which stood in a square in the heart of the 
town and before the door 'of which two petroleum 
lamps burnt dimly; he entered the low, smoky dining- 
room where two guests were playing baccarat. A 
waiter, half-asleep, in a threadbare coat stood before 
the buffet counting marks. Tschukee tapped him on 
the shoulder. 

“Has Herr Fortunat retired?” asked he. 

“Probably not,” replied the waiter; “he just left the 
hall and went to his room, number four, on the first 
floor.” 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


381 


“Did he dine alone?” 

“No, with the Dobrescus. ” 

“Number four on the first floor, did you say?” 

Tschukee left the room. When he entered JonePs 
room, he found him lying upon a couch dressed and 
smoking a cigarette; at his entrance he sprang up and 
looked in surprise at his late visitor. Tschukee held 
out his hand, but Jonel did not seem to have perceived 
it. 

“Very well,” said Tschukee, seating himself by the 
table and drawing out his watch, “it is half past 
eleven, Jonel; I shall only remain here half an hour; 
let us chat awhile as we used to in the good old 
times.” 

“I think it would be better,” said Jonel, coldly, 
“were we to avoid all explanations.” 

“That is my opinion, too,” said Tschukee; “we will 
therefore fancy that to-day has not been. I ask no 
explanation from you, nor you from me; it would be 
useless, you would not understand me, nor I you. How 
long do you expect to remain here?” 

“To-morrow morning I shall attend to some business 
matters and in the afternoon I shall leave for Banesti.” 

“Not for Bucharst?” 

“My presence at Banesti is required; the farmers 
have lost their suit in the court of cassation and it 
seems the}- are trying to stir up a revolt. I received 
a letter from my father this evening, in which he in- 
formed me of this; I think I shall succeed in quelling 
any rebellion that may have arisen.” 

“By what means? By kind words?” 


382 


JOhlEL FORT UN AT 


“Perhaps. ’’ 

“What a pity that I cannot witness your idealism, 
which I, alas, perceive has not entirely vanished, beat 
its horns against the hard heads of the peasants.” 
There was a trace of the old mockery in those words, 
and yet there was a peculiar gravity in them which 
struck Jonel. “I will interpret my words if you will 
seat yourself. And now, dear Jonel, let us chat; I 
came for that purpose.” Pie made himself a cigar- 
ette, lighted it, leaned back in his chair and looked * 
thoughtfully at Jonel. 

“Your eyes, Jonel, have no longer that luster for 
which I admired them at our first meeting. Is it 
not so — is not life different from what you imagined it 
to be?” And without waiting Jonel’ s reply, he con- 
tinued calmly: “Yes, life is a sad play, not a tragedy, 
a sad play with sad actors. How many good, how 
many noble, unselfish people have you met here? Let 
us count them on our fingers. Number one: Pantasi 
Tschukee!” He laughed aloud. “Now let us talk 
about that Tschukee. Do you remember the theory 
I expounded to-day? I said there were two kinds of 
people, those who are driven to destroy their lives, 
those who seize a revolver under the weight of some 
sudden calamit3^ and others again whose hearts are 
gnawed b}" a worm so long that finally they resolve to 
put a sudden end to the game. But there is a third 
class that I forgot to mention, composed of people 
who some fine morning coolly, like merchants at the 
close of the year,, compare the figures on the debit 
and credit sides in the ledger of their lives, and when 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


383 


they see the enormous deficit, quietly close the book 
and in the words of an old French philosopher say: 
‘Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee,’ and decamp; . 
if I am not mistaken that good man’s name was 
Delamettrie — he ate too many truffles and died from 
the effects of them. It is strange that one man dies 
because he eats too many truffles and another man 
longs for them and dies because he is unable to ob- 
tain them, in spite of all his pain, trouble and psy- 
chology! Yes, yes! . It is midnight,” added he, ris- 
ing; at the door he paused, looked about him a second 
with a peculiar, . forlorn expression on his troubled 
features, then suddenly drew Jonel tenderly to his 
breast and hurried out. 

A heavy cloud obscured the moon which beamed 
forth occasionally. Tschukee wandered aimlessly 
through a labyrinth of streets; all was very still, only 
now and then a dog barked at the nocturnal wanderer, 
who, as if impelled by some inward anxiety, hastened 
on. The houses on both sides of the street grew 
fewer and at length he stood on clear ground upon a 
primitive kind of wooden bridge which crossed a 
river whose waves dashed against the piers. He 
rested his arms upon the rails, bent his head and list- 
ened and meditated and did not himself know on what 
and the flowing of the water sounded so sweet, 
so alluring and made him feel so drowsy. Then a 
dark thought occurred to him: he had once seen a man 
drown, and he saw him again vividly before him; he 
saw his pale face as it appeared above. the water for 
the last time; he heard the cries of a woman standing 


884 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


on the shore, crying for help ... he started; an 
inexpressible fear possessed him; his excited fancy 
pictured pale, ghastly faces which grinned at him 
from the darkness, and strange forms which rose from 
the ground and drew near him. 

"Hallucinations,” murmured he; he pressed his 
hat more firmly upon his head and returned to town; 
he staggered like a drunkard. He arrived out of 
breath at his lodgings and lighted a candle; he was 
terrified when he saw his livid face in the mirror. 
He threw himself upon the couch and closed his eyes; 
he dozed, and as he lay there,, half waking, half- 
dreaming, from the innermost depths of his mind 
arose pictures and scenes from his childho(5d — he 
saw a large, weather-stained house in the midst of a 
neglected garden in which birds sang, roses bloomed 
and butterflies flitted, and he roamed about alone, en- 
tirely alone, climbed up the trees and chased the 
bright insects, and when he caught one with his green 
net, he ran joyfully to the pale, lovely lady with the 
black eyeSy who sat in the arbor; and who had such 
white, such soft hands, and when he kissed them, she 
pressed him to her breast and from those lai;ge, lovely, 
black eyes, two tears fell upon his glowing cheeks — 
when he felt those tears his boisterous joy fled and 
he grew silent and sad — he did not ask why his 
mother wept, he knew why only too well, he knew 
that cruel man with the dissipated face, who looked so 
lowering and before whom all trembled, when he re- 
turned home from his haunts late at night and vented 
his rage at his losses at cards in oaths and ill-treat- 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


385 


merit of the servants and of his child. But when her 
tormentor left her, when he was alone with his mother, 
all was forgotten, and when she stroked his hair from 
his brow, looked at him affectionately and said: “You 
are my darling boy still! “ oh, how his childish heart 
beat with happiness and bliss — he opened his eyes, 
sat up, pressed his brow between his hands, he did 
not wish to think, he did not wish to recall the past, 
he wished to forget that since the day that his mother 
had kissed him for the last time, he had enjoyed no 
pure pleasure, that he had been cold, embittered, at 
variance with himself, and with the world, had waded 
with a mocking smile upon his lips, through the filth 
of life; tliat at the same time he had borne about 
with him the ineradicable passionate desire for hap- 
piness, for love, for beauty, a desire, which even at 
that hour so racked his heart that with a sobbing cry 
he sprang up, fell back again and softly murmured 
Lea’s name — all at once he saw her before him, tall, 
imposing, enchanting; he heard her voice, the rustling 
of her dress, and felt the pressure of her small del- 
icate hand as he visited her that evening in the gaol 
before be had declared to her his wild love. 

“Do not think!” exclaimed he, and rising he stepped 
to the escritoire and wdth contracted brows grasped 
the revolver. As he laid the cold muzzle of the 
weapon against his ‘feverish, throbbing temples, it 
seemed to him as if a beloved hand were fanning him, 
and a white face rose before him, and dark, loving 
eyes — the eyes of his mother — gazed at him a long, 
long time; a soft, melancholy smile hovered about 


38G 


JOl^EL FORTUNAT 


her mouth, and he heard these sweet words: “You 
are still my darling boy!” Then he sat upon a chair, 
cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger. A shot re- 
sounded, then silence reigned. 


XL 


Since the intelligence had reached Banesti that the 
farmers had lost their case, the little town had been 
in a state of fermentation, Naftali’s tavern was filled 
every evening with tippling farmers, who talked for 
hours of the suit and drowned their grief at the loss 
of their property in terrible curses. The most violent 
were Father Constantin and the burgomaster, Dumitree 
Velic, who tried to do away with the blame attached 
to them, of the fatal termination of the suit, by swear- 
ing all the louder. Herr Velic developed quite an as- 
tonishing eloquence, and the old, telling phrases of 
the speech he had never delivered, flowed from his 
lips. He was always provided with a number of 
papers and an old law book, from which he read aloud 
various clauses, explained them and pointed out that 
the farmers had suffered a great injustice. “What poor 
counsel!” cried he “if the Almighty himself had de- 
fended us it would have availed us nothing; it was a 
scheme to ruin us, there is no more justice, we live 
in the village of Cremene, ” (a figurative expression 
for anarchism). 

Father Constantin had likewise made himself 
acquainted with the jurisprudence of the case, and 
when Velic had yelled himself hoarse, it was his 
custom to place his spectacles upon his nose, to 

387 


388 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


read aloud from the papers, and to add new ar- 
guments to those of the burgomaster. Only Dra- 
gosch was composed; whilst the others made 
a noise, quarreled, struck their fists on the table, he 
sat by brooding gloomily, a lighted cigar between his 
teeth, and to all appearances heard nothing of what 
was going on around him. Occasionally though, when 
the priest or the burgomaster uttered some especially 
•fine argument, he spat and mururmured: “May God 
punish them!” But when one evening Velic proposed 
to the farmers to present a petition to the reigning 
prince, he sprang up and said moodily: “If we pre- 
sent a petition, we infer that we accept the verdict, 
we supplicate for mercy, and that we may not do. No 
judge in the world has the right to deprive us of that 
land which has belonged to us for centuries — no judge 
in the world, say I!” 

“They have done so nevertheless!” interposed Velic. 

“They have done so,” yelled Dragosch, “but their 
decision has no existence for us, and I should like to 
see him who will dare to rob us of our property! ” 

“Dragosch is right,” shouted the priest. 

“What is then your plan?” asked Velic. “The ver- 
dict is legal; at this moment Oance does not belong 
to us! ” 

“What!” exclaimed Dragosch, as he dealt the bur- 
gomaster a box on the ear, “what! Oance does not be- 
long to us? I should like to see the man who dares 
assert that; and if you are not women, you will do as 
our forefathers did when they were to be robbed of 
their lands! We will take our guns, our axes, our 


JON EL PORT UN AT 


8£9 


pitchforks and hew those down who dare undertake to 
force from us one inch of Oance; do you understand 
me?” 

The farmers understood him; the consciousness of 
an injustice having been done to them had completely 
confused their ideas of the power of the law; that 
anyone could deprive them of the land which nour- 
ished them, to which they clung with all the fibers of 
their hearts, seemed to them incomprehensible. And 
if such a thing should happen, then it would be their 
right, their duty to fight against it; it must not be; 
the fear of coming into conflict with the representa- 
tives of the law would not deter them. A law which 
gave their own property to a wealthy landowner had 
no validity, in their eyes. Father Constantin as well 
as the others was convinced of that, yet he feared the 
consequences of the steps which he saw the farmers 
were resolved to take; he therefore decided to make 
one last effort to, if possible, bring about some amica- 
ble arrangement with Herr Fortunat. 

“I know,” said he to himself, “that nothing will 
come of it, that I am pouring water into a mortar, 
but I will ease my conscience.” And so he repaired 
to the castle. But when he entered the saloon and 
the tall form of Madame Fortunat met him, when he 
saw the dark frown upon her white brow, and saw her 
dark blue eyes fixed upon him with a severe expres- 
sion, he felt somewhat timid, although he had forti- 
fied himself before his visit with half a dozen glasses 
of Tzuika (plum-brandy). He forgot the speech which, 
upon the way to the castle, he had committed to mem- 
ory, and gazed before him smiling confusedly. 


* 390 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


“What brings you here, Father Constantin?” asked 
Madame Fortunat, as she sank upon a sofa, lighted a 
cigarette and began to smoke. 

“I have come about the suit, gracious madame,” said 
he, timidly. 

“What suit?” 

He stared at her in surprise. 

“Our suit, gracious madame! ” 

She laughed shortly. 

“You seem to be intoxicated, Father Constantin, 
and to have forgotten that the suit is at an end; there 
is no longer a suit!” 

“You are right, gracious madame,” said the priest, 
sighing, “there is no longer any suit!” 

“Then what do you want?” 

“I wish to establish peace between the farmers a 
Herr Fortunat; I wish to arrange a compromise.” 

“A compromise! ” exclaimed Madame Fortunat laugh- 
ing. “I really believe you are not in your right mind; 
a compromise! We do not need to compromise with 
anyone. Oance belongs to us — belongs to us, I say! 
What is there to compromise?” 

“But the farmers,” exclaimed the priest in his agi- 
tation, “will not acknowledge the verdict; we cannot 
do so, for the estate belongs to us in spite of all that. 
Have mercy on us, gracious madame, we are beggars,” 
he added beseechingly. 

“First of all,” said Madame Fortunat, “we must be 
placed in possession of the estate; for that purpose a 
judicial committee will arrive here to-morrow; if you 
do not make any disturbance, as you intended doing. 


JONEL FORTUN/iT 


391 


I will induce my husband to care for the farmers; they 
shall not starve.” 

“But we want aur estate,” persisted the priest; in 
whom the dogmatical stubbornness of the peasant was 
aroused; “it belongs to us in the sight of ,God and the 
world! If our property be taken from us, something 
terrible will happen, gracious madame, for the people 
are wild, so help me God!” 

Madame Fortunat arose. 

“Go, sleep off your intoxication,” said she; “and 
one word more, impress upon the people to keep cool;* 
I know exactly what is going on in Banesti, and you 
may depend upon it we have means ready by which to 
quell your rebellious intrigues. Go, and tell the peo- 
ple that the commissioners arrive to-morrow; they 
are officers of justice, and woe unto you, if you are led 
to commit any acts of violence! It is your duty to 
open the eyes of the people, and I hope you will do 
so.” 

“Is that all you have to say, gracious madame?” 
asked the priest. 

“All!” 

“Then God help you!” 


XLI 


“The commissioners have arrived at the castle! ’’ That 
terrifying message was circulated the following day 
at nine o’clock in the forenoon through Banesti, and 
drove the farmers to Naftali’s tavern. They all came; 
young, slender fellows with dark eyes which sparkled 
with excitement; matured men with serious faces, and 
anxious, old men. Inside and outside of the tavern 
there was ^ great deal of confusion; all drank, talked 
and screamed. Suddenly a horseman dashed along the 
highway; it was Velic, he drew up at the tavern; he 
was deathly pale, he dismounted, all gathered around 
him. 

“I come from the castle,” cried he; “I talked with 
old Alex; the commissioners have indeed arrived; in 
an hour they will repair to our estate to place Herr 
Fortunat in possession!” 

Silence followed his words, then Dragosch stepped 
out of the tavern. 

“Why do you stand there,” cried he, “and stare at 
one another? Did you not understand Velic? They 
wish to rob us of Oance; from this day forth you will 
have neither house nor court, you are beggars, and 
if you wish to continue to drag out your miserable 
existence, you will be forced to creep to the Bojar and 
beg of him to give you a few acres of your own prop- 

392 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


393 


erty! From this time we shall work our own estates 
as servants, do you understand?” 

Wild cries followed his words; hundreds of fists 
were clenched. 

"What shall we do?” cried a babel of tongues; 
“speak, Dragosch, what shall we do?” 

“What shall we do?” repeated Dragosch, “I will 
tell you: Our ancestors defended this land with weap- 
ons in their hands and as a reward Stefan the Great 
gave them Oance forever; that we have in black and 
white, and what our forefathers gained by means of 
their weapons, we must defend with ours; but if you 
wish to be slaves, stand there with folded arms and 
watch the Bojar plough, sow and reap — watch him 
gather in the money — our money — and see the last 
shirt stripped from your backs! Will you suffer that? 
Do you wish to be worse than dogs? If one tries to 
take from a dog the bone he is gnawing, he shows 
his teeth and bites; and the bone we gnaw you allow 
to be torn from you in broad daylight! And why? 
Because several God-forsaken Bojars in Bucharest, 
who have no feeling for us, say: “It must be so!” 
No! it must not be so! And whosoever has a heart 
in his body must give us right. Arm yourselves, has- 
ten to the castle, kill the commissioners, kill the rob- 
ber, Fortunat! Those who will follow me,” cried he 
with glittering eyes, drawing a pistol from his belt 
and holding it aloft, “those who will follow me, let 
them cry: ‘Death to the Bojars!’’* 

“Death to the Bojars!” cried the inspired farmers; 
they dispersed in all directions and returned some 


394 


JON EL FORTUNAT 


minutes later armed with scythes, hay-forks, flails, 
axes and hatchets, to the inn, before which in the 
meantime the entire population of the village had 
assembled ; there was a strange confusion of men, 
women and children; they sang and yelled, some fired 
pistols in the air, children screamed; here and there 
one could hear the sobs of a woman; others held glass- 
es of wine or small pewter cups filled with gin in 
their hand, clinked glasses and drank; and above all 
the noise were heard the shrill tones of a fife upon 
which a musician was playing a merry dance to which 
the tipsy priest played an accompaniment by snapping 
his fingers and humming. 

"And now to the castle! ’’ cried Dragosch, who tow- 
ered above the crowd a full head. 

Once more resounded the cry: "Death to the 
Bojars!" and then the mob, led b}^ Dragosch, the priest 
and Velic, began to move along the main road to the 
castle. 


XLII 


It was shortly before the setting of the sun. Naftali 
paced his tavern-floor wringing his hands, and whim- 
pering ; his cash, his wife and her valuables, he had 
placed in safety the day before in anticipation of what 
was to come; but who would protect him? who would 
stand good for his brandy bottles, for the three casks 
of wine that lay in the cellar, and for his effects? 

“They are shooting,” murmured he with quivering 
lips, “they will kill people, the murderers, they will 
drink my wine, break the bottles, oh. Lord!” 

He sank feebly upon a bench and stared before him; 
so much engrossed was he with his troubles that he 
did not perceive that some one entered the inn; it was 
Zilibi; his beard was unkempt, his eyes were hollow 
and had an unnatural, moody expression in them, up- 
on his head he wore a thread-bare velvet cap from be- 
neath which could be seen his gray curls; about his 
thin, bent body fluttered a dirty white frock, a holiday 
dress, which pious Jews only wore on the Day of 
Atonement; he looked wild and his mind was as dis- 
turbed as his looks. The news that his Lea had been 
arrested for murder — his Lea, whom he still loved 
with infinite tenderness, had been a cruel blow to him; 
it had entirely changed him; he avoided people, he 
did not speak at all; but at times when some remem- 

395 


396 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


brance occurred to him, he would run, uttering horri- 
ble oaths, followed and teased by a crowd of street 
Arabs, through the village, until he reached his room. 

He cowered for some time, gazing fixedly before 
him, in a corner of the tavern; suddenly he began to 
mutter unintelligible words. Naftali sprang up in 
affright. 

“It is you!” cried he, perceiving his strange visitor; 
“have you heard them shoot, have you heard them?” 

Zilibi shook his head, chuckled to himself and 
said: 

“Yes, they shot; they wish to shoot my child, my 
Lea, but I will not allow it, no, no! She is going 
with me to Jerusalem — next year we shall be in Jeru- 
salem; is it not written in the Hagada? — (a collection 
of legends, read by the Jews on Easter Eve). Go with 
us, Naftali, go with us,” 

The innkeeper had no time to think of the meaning 
cf those words; he heard the rumbling of a carriage 
which soon stopped before his tavern Naftali rushed 
out in hopes that the sub-prefect, for whom the 
peasants entertained great respect, had arrived; but 
in the droschke sat Jonel, covered with dust, pale and 
with a feverish sparkle in his eyes. 

“A peasant, whom. I just met,” escaped his lips, 
“told me that the farmers have besieged the castle; 
is it true?” 

Naftali nodded his head in the affirmative. 

“How long ago?” 

“How should 1 know?” lamented the tavern-keeper; 
“probably two, three or four hours; they have revolv- 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


397 


ers;, guns, and axes with them, the murderers, and 
they are shooting!” 

“Is my family at the castle?” 

“No, the gracious lord, the gracious lady and the 
officials of the law have fled to Valeni. My son told 
me; I sent him to the castle this morning with the 
taxes; they were not due, but at such a time I do not 
wish to have any money in the house; my son brought 
me the money back for no one was there but Alex, and 
he was tipsy.” 

“To the castle! ” cried Jonel to the coachman; the 
carriage rolled away. 

The fact that Jonel had repaired to the manor had 
partly awakened the tavernkeeper’s wits; he began to 
reason: 

“When he is not needed, the sub-prefect is at hand; 
to-day when no one is sure of one’s life, he cannot 
be found!” 

Suddenly Naftali started; he had again heard some- 
thing like a shot, but it was only the cracking of a 
whip, and soon after a droschke containing Lea on her 
way to the castle, passed the inn. At a turn in the 
road, about two hundred paces from the manor, it 
overtook the first carriage. Jonel halted, descended 
and stared in amazement at Lea, who suddenly stood 
before him, pale, with quivering lips, breathless, as 
she told him that that morning Herr and Madame 
Fortunat with the commissioners, fleeing from the 
mutinous peasants had arrived at Valeni, that Herr 
Fortunat had had no time to inform Jonel of the dan- 
gerous turn affairs had taken, that she, tormented by 


398 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


terrible anxiety, had hastened hither, and felt happy 
to have come in time; then she implored Jonel to turn 
back, to repair to Valeni and to remain there until 
the rebellion had been quelled, which would be the 
next day at the latest, for Herr Fortunat had sent a 
messenger to the district capital for military assistance. 

“I beseech you,” added she, seizing JonePs hand, 
"not to venture near the castle — oh, you do not know 
of what things angry peasants are capable!” 

“Thank you very much,” said Jonel with emotion, 
“but do not worry; I have friends amongst the farm- 
ers; nothing will happen to me; drive home without 
a care,* Lea.” 

"I will not do so,” cried she; “I have a presentiment 
of something dreadful! You must not risk your life, 
your life which is dear to so many. I have no claim 
upon you, I know it, and have submitted to the in- 
evitable; I have no claim upon you, but have a care 
for Pia’s sake; in the name of the girl whom you love, 
who has a right to your life, I implore you do not 
rush blindly into danger. Come to Valeni!” 

“I cannot! — impossible!” said he. 

From the castle a deafening roar reached them ; 
he tried to go, she seized him by the arm in despair. 

“And if,” cried she, ’’you were to drive me away like 
a dog, I should not stir from your side! ” 

He did not reply, and hastened, followed by Lea, 
toward the castle, but stopped at the gate as if rooted 
to the spot! In the center of the court-yard in dire 
confusion lay the remains of furniture, broken mirrors, 
torn books and bric-a-brac, all saturated with wine 


JONEL FORT UN AT 


399 


which flowed from a cask laying near the perron, 
while around another cask stood a group of farmers, 
who held in their hands filled glasses, clinked, drank 
and hurrahed. Near them about two dozen drunken 
fellows had formed a circle and were dancing a hora, 
whilst others rushed through the rooms on the first 
floor in blind rage, destroyed furniture, broke windows 
and occasionally with a wild yell threw some object 
from the balcony into the court below. Suddenly 
Dragosch rushed bareheaded, with flowing locks, his 
gay shirt torn open, up the steps, a bundle of legal 
documents under his arm. 

‘The papers relating to our case!’’ yelled he, and 
they flew in wide circles amongst the dancers. Then 
he espied Jonel and Lea. “The young nobleman,’’ 
cried he, laughing scornfully; “the young nobleman 
and the poisoner of Valeni!’’ 

All eyes turned toward the two forms at the gate. 
Jonel advanced slowly toward Dragosch, who with 
bared breast which rose and fell with every breath, his 
left hand upon the wine cask, his right upon his hip, 
stood before the door with frowning brows. 

“Get out!’’ cried Jonel, his eyes sparkling with 
anger. 

Dragosch laughed loudly. 

“There you have the true Bojar blood!’’ cried he; 
“at first they treat us well, drink with us, promise us 
the blue heavens and all only to deceive us! You are 
a fraud, Jonel! What! you wish to rob us of Oance? 
Just do it, but first we will show you how one feels 
when one’s property is destroyed; we are the masters 


400 


JOhlEL FORTUNAT 


here now. Set fire to the papers,” cried he to the men, 
“we will make a small bonfire in honor of the young 
nobleman!” 

“Get out!” cried Jonel, and the veins on his fore- 
head swelled; he took a step forward threateningly. 

“You wish to drive me out,” Dragosch hissed, and 
his face grew chalky white ; “you?” He grasped the 
pistol in his belt. “Back!” added he in a voice which 
trembled with suppressed rage, “back, or I will shoot 
you like a mad dog! ” 

He cocked the pistol, when Lea threw herself be- 
tween them, protecting her beloved with outstretched 
arms. Jonel pushed her from him, and deathly pale, his 
white teeth pressing his lower lip until the blood 
came, with glowing eyes, he rushed at Dragosch, seiz- 
ing his arm with an iron grip; a shot resounded; the 
bullet struck Lea in the breast, she staggered and 
then fell with a low cry. Silence followed. The farm- 
ers drew back in affright. 

Jonel stood for a second as if stunned; then he 
tottered to the side of the dying woman whose distort- 
ed features were lighted by the last rays of the setting 
sun; he bent over her; she murmured his name, and 
for the last time her dim eyes cast a glance of un- 
utterable love upon him. 




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XLIII 


Upon a miserable bed in Zilibi Psantir’s low, bare 
room lay his dead daughter, and the light from a sin- 
gle tallow candle, which stood upon the table in a tin 
candle- stick, flickered on the still, pale face with 
closed eyes and half open mouth. Zilibi paced the 
room restlessly, and the white gown fluttered around 
his form like a shroud; he gesticulated wildly, uttered 
incomprehensible words, stopped occasionally at the 
bed, gazed at the corpse, seized her hands and then 
cried in a chanting voice: “Next year at Jerusalem!’* 
Then he resumed his walk, as if haunted by some ter- 
rible fear; his weakened intellect strove in vain for 
clearness, sought in vain to understand that which lay 
before him so plainly. Once in a while, however, 
his eyes would lose their perplexed expression and 
then the peculiar fire of madness would return. As 
perplexed, as moody and as sparkling as the eyes of 
the Jew were those of Jonel, who sat upon a chair by 
the bed with his back toward the window, staring at 
the corpse; he did not hear what Zilibi murmured to 
himself; he did not hear the tones of the violin which 
was being played at Naf tali’s tavern, he did not hear 
the screams and hurras of the tipsy farmers; a dull 
melancholy lay upon his soul through which the events 
of the past twenty- four hours were passing. Sudden- 
26 401 


402 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


ly darkness reigned in the room, but before his eye 
in terrifying clearness, arose both incidents of the day. 
He saw Tschiikee’s distorted face, as he had seen it 
that morning when he, impelled by a presentiment, 
hastened to his lodgings and found the humpback in a 
pool of blood, the revolver in his hand, lying on the 
floor , he saw Lea, shot by the bullet intended for him, 
lying upon the ground, he saw the last gleam in her 
eye, and he heard the doctor’s heart-rending word: 
“Dead!" 

He would not at first believe it, and in mute de- 
spair had stood for hours at her bedside, in the mad 
hope that she would open her eyes and smile at him ; 
but her eyes had remained closed, she lay there pale, 
stiff and cold. Then he believed itc 

“Dead!" murmured he; “all dead, Florica, Tschu- 
kee. Lea!" Those three persons rose before him and 
looked at him each in his or her way . . . Sud- 

denly he started up. A red light had fallen upon the 
dead woman; it flickered over her face, it seemed to 
him as if her lips moved, he shuddered, he turned and 
stood there motionlessly, his gaze fixed upon a horri- 
ble sight in the distance. From the roof of the castle 
of Banesti leapt up flames, enveloping the broad plain 
and the little town in a dark glow; it grew and grew, 
it stretched out tongues of fire in all directions, which 
shoots fanned by a high wind soon formed a large 
blaze, and a sea of hissing, dancing sparks mounted 
to the glowing heavens. No one hurried to the rescue; 
everyone knew that the fire was the work of the farm- 
ers, was Dragosch’s work. Dragosch stood in the 


JONEL FORTUNAT 


403 


midst of the crowd of people in front of Naftali’s tav- 
ern, and his strong voice was heard above the lowing 
of the frightened cattle and the hoarse barking of the 
dogs, crying “Death to the Bojars!” 

“Death to the Bojars!” was again echoed by hun- 
dreds of voices. 

Jonel sank back in his chair; he rested his arm 
upon the window ledge and pressed his throbbing 
temples between his hands; up to that time his burn- 
ing eyes had been tearless, but at the sight of the blaz- 
ing castle in which his childhood had been spent, 
within hearing of the cries for revenge of the farmers 
for whose rights he had interceded, his heart was 
touched and violent sobs shook his frame. 

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, he looked up. 
Zilibi stood before him, in his right hand he held a 
violin. 

“Do you see, Jonel,” whispered he, mysteriously, “do 
you see, that is the illumination in honor of your 
father’s wedding fete? He is to be married, the gra- 
cious lord, married, married! and I am to play for 
him; yes, there lies his bride, see how she smiles! 
I am to play and we will dance — dance as we did 
that time when he first saw my sister at the ‘Purim’ 
festival, when they both danced. A handsome 
couple, truly! And they married in haste — a fine wed- 
ding; we will dance, dance, dance, and next year we 
will dance at Jerusalem!” 

He put his violin to his chin, began to play a 
merry dance and skipped about the room, Jonel 
sprang up horrified; in passing out of the house he 


404 


JO}^EL FORTUNE T 


collided with Father Constantin, who, swinging a 
bottle in his right hand, was staggering homeward. 

“It is you, my son,” stammered the priest anxiously, 
“it is you; very well, come to my apartments ; there 
you will be safe from Dragosch. He is a terrible man 
— a murderer and incendiary; Ae has done everything, 
he alone, do you hear; I wash my hands of all guilt, 
you are my witness, Jonel, and you shall have a glass 
of wine with me too, come!” 

Soon after Jonel lay with half-closed eyes and 
breathing heavily upon the hard divan belonging to the 
priest, who, swaying his body to and fro, stood before 
him and tried to induce him to drink out of the wine 
bottle. 

“To drink,” said he with a heavy tongue, “is the 
principal thing in life; man must drink, that is to be 
found in the Old Testament. Noah drank and Lot 
drank their health^ s Allelujah!” 

Jonel did not hear what the priest proceeded to say; 
he fell into a doze, and images, memories of times 
long fled, passed by him, all indistinct, however, and 
shadowy, until suddenly a sweet, pale face with won- 
erf ul deep eyes arose before him; he gazed at it, and 
did not know where and when he had seen that girPs 
face with the dear, familiar features. Then a smile 
played about his lips. 

“Pia, ” murmured he, and sank into a deep, dream- 
less sleep. 


XLIV 


It was a bright spring morning, the heavens were 
clear and blue, golden sunbeams glinted across the 
glittering mirror of the lake, a gentle breeze swayed 
the rushes on its banks, several swallows twittered 
merrily in the trees, and upon the cupola of the church 
tower croaked a flock of ravens. 

Banesti was astir; the news of what had taken 
place the day before had been circulated far and wide. 
Friends and acquaintances of the Fortunats from 
neighboring estates had hastened thither, and a body 
of commissioners under the escort of a detachment 
of guards had arrived from the district capital to in- 
quire into the matter. Upon the square in front of 
the primitive court house stood a crowd of farmers 
guarded by soldiers with drawn swords. The ring- 
leaders of the rebellion. Father Constantin, Dragosch 
and Dumitree Velic, stood with manacled hands at the 
door of the court house; they were all three deathly 
pale and stared gloomily before them. The shops in 
the village were closed; only Naf tali’s tavern was 
open and there were strange guests within it — Herr 
Fortunat, surrounded by a number of land-owners, 
who with grave faces discussed the occurrence of the 
previous day, in which discussion Herr Dobrescu took 
a conspicuous part. 


405 


406 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


“Forty years ago, “said he, “we had no written con- 
stitution, no so-called freedom of the press, no news- 
papers to turn people’s heads, but there was peace and 
order in the land, the land-owners were respected and 
feared but now the peasants have all sorts of ideas of 
independence in their heads, they think themselves 
our equals, they are electors, they are free, and what 
are the consequences, gentlemen? See there!” 

He pointed toward the ruins of the castle from 
which arose toward heaven a faint cloud of smoke. 
At that cloud Jonel too was looking; he was standing 
before Pia, who, pale, silent and with downcast eyes 
was seated upon a bench next the castle chapel. 

“During the past six months I have been through 
a hard school, Fraulein Pia,” thus Jonel broke the 
silence; “when I returned home, my soul was filled 
with sweet hopes; where are they now?" He sighed 
deeply. “Our castle has been laid waste,” he con- 
tinued after a short pause, with tears in his eyes. 
“That will rise again grander than ever, but I fear, I 
very much fear that what was laid waste in my soul, 
will never celebrate a happy resurrection! ” He 
paused; a sad smile hovered about his lips. She 
arose and seized his hand. 

“Throw off the sorrowful memories of yesterday,” 
cried she. “You are so young, you have your whole 
life before you!” 

He still gazed thoughtfully at the skies, then a 
swallow flew down upon the glittering cross of the 
chapel; it sang so merrily, so joyously in that spring 
morning, and its song seemed like a wonderful dis- 


JON EL FORT UN AT 


407 


closure, like glad tidings; it sang of that deep, noble, 
pure love, which is as strong as death, which with its 
divine eye brightens the misery of the world, which 
hopes and hopes on and never despairs. A refxection 
of such a love shimmered in the two beaming eyes 
gazing at Jonel; they were the same eyes which had 
arisen before him every time that he lost courage, fill 
ing him with peace and content. He again felt the 
soothing magic of the same, and as she looked at him 
so closely, a tremor of delight shot through him. Did 
she love him, did she love him truly? Had he at last 
found a true woman who could re-awaken his old love 
of life, his former hopes and ideals? He must have 
certainty — blissful certainty, and he asked her softly: 
“Will you help me, Pia, to begin life anew?” 

“Jonel!” she exclaimed; she sank upon his breast, 
and her blue eyes closed. He drew her more closely 
to him, and kissed her mouth, her closed eyes, and her 
soft, silky hair, which shone in the rays of the morn- 
ing sun like spun gold. 


THE END 



- - THE - - 

mneiicao GUI In Pails, 

BY ALEXANDER DUMAS, FILS. 


12mo, PAPER COVER. ILLUSTRATED. 


“ The heroine is a tissue of nerves on a finished frame. 
Her existence is of the Monte Cristo styje, under red lights 
of intrigue and counterplotting.” — The ^an Biego Union, 
The villain is a Parisian of the higln st rank, young in 
3’ears, but wi ecked by dissipation.- The translation a good 
one.” — The Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

‘"A powerful picture of modirn li^’e. It is strikingly 
realistic and truthful, w.th an abundance of keen satire 
and delicate wit, for which this novelist is so widely 
known.” — The Minneapolis Sunday Tribune. 

“The typical independence of the average American girl 
is ably depicted by the author.” — The Milwaukee News. 

‘ Printed on heavy paper, bound in illuminated paper 
cover, and illustrated with many handsome photo-gravure 
engravings.” — The New York Sunday News. 


DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY JL GO., PUBLISHERS, 



pi^araol^’s Jrea5ijre. 


ijy Luman Allen. i2MO. Paper Cover. 
Illustrated. 


‘‘While the story is perfectly unique in its charac* 
ter, it smacks somewhat of the weird nature of Rider 
Haggard^s ‘She* and Jules Verne’s ‘Around the 
World in Eighty Days. It iz full from cover to cover 
of chrillixig adventures, marvelous revelations and pas- 
sionate scenes of love and hatred . — The Gra?id Trunk 
Bulletin. 

The story is a revelation of marvelous and startling 
discoveries in the rocky pyramids of Egypt, breathing 
the breath of life into the wrinkled mummies of men 
and women who lived and loved and languished in 
the palmy days of Egyptian grandeur. That was a 
more voluptuous age, and its men and women of a 
more sensuous race than ours, and the author has 
pictured the passionate scenes of love and hate accord- 
\ngly. 


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